Victor
by Crackinois
Summary: Sequel to Tribute. For Quarter Quell victors Jane Rizzoli and Maura Isles, the Games never really end. They defied the Capitol by forcing a dual victory, in the aftermath with an uprising simmering throughout the districts, can they bring President Charles Hoyt and his regime to its knees?
1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note: **This story is a sequel to my story "Tribute," which is a Hunger Games AU/crossover. It is absolutely necessary to read Tribute before reading this story. However, it is not necessary to have read the Hunger Games trilogy or have seen the movie. Events and characters are borrowed from the HG books, but in both the previous story and this one I do my best to explain the parts derived from the Hunger Games universe. Tribute roughly followed the Hunger Games with some elements of Catching Fire, for those of you that are familiar with the HG universe. This story picks up with events leading up to the Victory Tour in Catching Fire but will primarily draw from the events in Mockingjay.

As with the Tribute, this story is necessarily dark and angsty, but I hope you all will trust me to lead you to better times. This story will be moved to the rated M section in a couple of chapters so please alert it so that you will know, or just know that by chapter 3 or 4 it will probably be in the other section.

**Victor**

**CH 1: In the Beginning**

Five months. Four months, four weeks and five days to be exact. Since the 75th Hunger Games had ended. Some days were better than others. Some days passed without even a thought of the Games. Usually only one, never more than two and when they did she felt guilty that she'd forgotten for even those twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Not that she didn't deserve a respite. Guilty, because it meant she'd forgotten them: the other tributes who had died, even the ones who had tried so hard to kill her.

Nightmares had grown infrequent for a time. One day since the Games. Two days. Three. Seven days. Fourteen days. A few less nightmares. One month. On and on the countdown went…until it changed and the nightmares became more frequent again. Three months until the Victory Tour. Two months and two weeks. Two months. A month and a half. And now: one month and two days.

The Victory Tour was situated halfway between the end of the previous Games and the start of the next. No one in Panem could escape the Games; the country was always in some perpetual countdown related to them. In one month and two days they would have no choice but to step back on that train and play their parts yet again. They would start in District 12 and go in descending order, skipping their own district and saving it for last, and of course the whole display would be punctuated by their return to the Capitol.

Maura walked along the fence that separated District 8 from the world outside. She picked her way through the broken concrete, bricks, and other building materials from the crumbling structures that once made up some of the oldest factories. The blackened shell of a factory, long torched, stood bare to her left. See through from one side to the other, the burnt and melted remnants of unsalvageable machines sat piled in its center. She'd taken to walking through this part of town since their return from the Games. It was abandoned and quiet save for the whirring of the late winter and early spring winds that swept through the debris and occasionally brushed pebbles from rock piles or rustled sheet metal in its resting place. It was also the place where her birth mother had died, in the very building to her left. Maura never went inside, not because she feared the structural integrity of what little of the factory remained, but because she feared the ghost of the woman that had perished inside. Since former Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle had been revealed as her father their visits had often been filled with talk of Hope. Maura wondered if her mother would have been proud to have her as a daughter. When she closed her eyes and saw herself plunge that dagger through Casey Jones's throat, she wasn't sure that she would have been.

She sat, on the same rock slab she sat on every time she walked along the fence and reached for the book in her satchel. The book was old, the once hard black leather cover, now bent and supple. Angela said the lettering had been gold, but she had not seen it, nor had her mother before her. It was gold though, she said. A trivial point, Maura thought, but Angela had entrusted the book to her and one day she would give it to her and Jane's daughter and she would tell her what color the words that had resided on what was left of the cover had been printed in.

The book was not unfamiliar to her; though physical copies were virtually nonexistent the words persisted, passed down through the generations though few believed them as people once had. Maura ran her finger over the scant indentation where the title had been. _Holy Bible_, it had read…in gold. No more, fingers and thumbs had stroked it smooth, wearing even the imprint of the title away. Maura looked again at the burnt building ahead of her. _Where is God?_

_Through the darkness, I found comfort here_, Angela had told her. Maura opened the book, holding the yellowed pages down with her hand to protect them from being torn away by the quickening breeze. She would be grateful when spring truly arrived and eventually summer. It was too long since the sun had shone. She began to read.

_In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day._

Only when Maura blinked and saw the wet drop spread across the page did she realize that she was crying.

Somewhere, amongst the factory ruins, a scream echoed through the empty air. "Hello!?" Maura called out, tucking the book back into her satchel as she stood. Another scream, shrill and high…a child maybe. Setting off in the direction the cry had come from she tried to tread softly, listening for more clues as to which direction to look. Screams interspersed with painful whining led her closer and as she neared the source she realized it was not a child. The sandy, wiry hair of the little dog was so sullied by mud and rock dust she almost blended in with the rubble that had shifted and trapped her.

The dog twisted and cried out in agony again, her leg caught under a chunk of fractured concrete. "Shhh," Maura tried to soothe her as she knelt beside the frightened animal. The dog shook, her eyes wide and bulging, her tongue hanging out as she panted frantically. Maura ran her hands over the little creature, talking to her, calming her as the trembling began to subside. Slowly she reached for the small slab and lifted until the dog's trapped leg was free. Struggling to three legs the weak animal dragged itself out of further harm's way, though her leg was obviously broken. Maura expected the dog to flee but she didn't, rather she lowered her head and crept towards her savior as she wagged her tail.

* * *

"She's usually back by now," Jane muttered to herself as she stood in the window of their apartment over Maura's shop. Despite the early evening darkness the street outside was still busy. She scanned the groups of workers walking to and from work or errands to see if she could spot her wife amongst them. On numerous occasions she had asked if Maura wanted company on her walks; the answer was always no. Jane stopped asking. If anyone could understand the need to be alone, it was Jane. She still needed that time for herself, those after hour calls of solitude nestled under a patchwork of leaking pipes. She never charged, so she'd work as fast or as slow as she wanted depending on the job and how alone she needed to be. And when the work was done she'd stroll home, strip out of her greasy, sweaty clothes and crawl into bed next to her wife. Just as Maura would return when she was ready, wrap her arms around Jane and kiss her neck and tell her she was ready to go to dinner at Angela's.

The door clicked and opened behind her.

Jane arched an eyebrow at the dingy creature in Maura's arm, "What…is that?"

Maura closed the door behind her with her foot, "We have to get her to the clinic. Her leg is broken."

"Are you a veterinarian now?" Jane asked, half smiling when Maura huffed in response. "Because…that…" she pointed at the little dog that her wife was now pushing towards her, "…is a dog. And dogs…are technically illegal."

"And since dogs are technically illegal," Maura arched an eyebrow as she thrust the little bundle into Jane's arms, "there are no veterinarians in District 8, which doesn't make her leg any less broken. I can cast it, with your assistance, at the clinic, you know, that place you help me out at that is also…technically illegal."

Jane looked down at the scruffy terrier she held against her chest. With a perfectly timed lick the dog's long, wet tongue, caught her square on the lips and nose. Jane sputtered and wiped her mouth as Maura giggled.

"Oh, good," Maura smiled, "she likes you."

Jane followed her out of the apartment, pursing her lips as Maura looked back at her over her shoulder. "Don't you even think about it, 'Korsak'," she teased, "We are not keeping this dog."

* * *

The house they had been awarded in the Victor's Village had been converted into a clinic. Citizens of District 8 came to Maura as they always had, sick or injured, and too poor to go to a real doctor. Dr. Lucius Black, who had helped Tommy escape from the Capitol, helped her run it. He taught her new procedures, and together, with the supplies they were able to obtain, they could perform far more surgical operations than Maura had been able to do alone. Still, the people were wary of the newcomer and it often took a fair amount of convincing from Maura to impart to them that Lucius was there to help, and that he could help them in ways that she could not. Lucius had taken Jane's old apartment down in the projects, but when patients were too sick or required extra recovery time in the clinic, he stayed there. There were no patients there overnight this time, however, when they walked into the dark house.

Jane carried the dog to one of the exam rooms they had set up in what was intended to be a bedroom as Maura set to work gathering supplies: a sedative, intravenous fluid as the dog appeared not only malnourished but also dehydrated, clippers, and the casting materials.

"I'll have to guess on the dosage…" Maura lamented as she eyed the vial and syringe in her hands and the dog in Jane's arms. She hated guessing. It made her skin crawl and threaten to break out in red, splotchy hives. But treating the sick and injured was no exact science, especially with her limited supplies and equipment. Treating an injured dog was something new entirely. Once sedated, she shaved the hair from the dog's delicate forearm, ran a central line and then shaved the hair from the broken back leg.

No procedure, no matter how small, ever lost its awe for Jane. She watched Maura work, a smile creeping across her face as her wife set the broken leg and then began to wrap the cast. "You're amazing, you know that?"

The corner of Maura's mouth turned up revealing a tiny dimple. Jane reached out and ran her finger over it and then caressed her cheek while she continued to work. "I think we should name her Josephine," Maura stated, not bothering to look up.

"We're not keeping the dog, Maura. We can drop her off at Korsak's."

"I always liked the name Josephine," Maura continued. "I thought perhaps if I ever had a daughter I would name her Josephine. But, when we have a daughter, we're going to name her Francesca, so I need some opportunity to use it."

Jane cleared her throat to try and keep from smiling. "You're not naming that dog. Not…Josephine." Maura's eyes flashed up to meet her, she'd won, and she knew it. "Josephine is all…feminine and sophisticated. This thing is all…scruffy, and dirty, and smelly. She's a street dog."

"She'll smell better after you give her a bath," Maura stated nonchalantly as she continued to wrap the cast.

_After I give her a bath, of course_. "I think we should name her Friday," Jane countered. "You found her on a Friday and it kind of has a street cred ring to it…"

"And why, pray tell, does a dog need street cred?" Maura chuckled. "Fine. Josephine Friday it is."

Jane watched as Maura cleaned up and then piled some blankets in the corner and placed their little patient on them. "Jo. I can live with Jo."

"The sedative should keep her subdued until we're done with dinner." Maura finally sought out her wife's embrace, relaxing into Jane's arms and kissing her neck.

"Your walk was very eventful tonight," Jane whispered, running one hand through Maura's hair as the other tightened around her back.

"Mmm," Maura hummed, nuzzling tighter into Jane's neck. "I think…I won't be taking anymore walks. The closer we come to the Tour…I have this unsettling feeling. Does it make me needy if I'm afraid to be apart from you right now? Once, I was used to being alone…"

Jane tilted Maura's head back and pressed their lips together, strong and rough, she kissed her until she knew if she didn't stop they would never make it to dinner. "No, it doesn't make you needy. But, there's nothing to be afraid of. We'll be together every moment on the Victory Tour. It's not the Games. We never have to go back to that. No one will ever take you away from me again."

_Nothing to be afraid of_. It was a lie. There was always something to be afraid of. Jane knew it and Maura knew it, but she smiled anyway and kissed Jane softly on the lips one last time before they made their way to Angela's.

* * *

The usual raucous conversation didn't greet them as they entered the house. Nor did the fragrant aroma of cooking food fill the air. Angela and Constance stood in the entryway between the living room and kitchen, hands clasped between them, faces gaunt and pale. Harrison Isles and Korsak stood abruptly from their seats on the sofa and turned. Everything felt wrong. Jane froze and reached for Maura's hand and pulled her close, her eyes roaming from her mother and mother-in-law to her friend and mentor.

Korsak's hands trembled as he tried to speak. The man was a rock; only one thing shook him like that. "We barely had any warning…" Korsak stammered. And then, Jane knew.

Jane lurched forward nearly jerking Maura off her feet as she pushed her forcefully into Constance's arms, "Take her home! Now! And don't you dare leave her!" She barked.

Maura struggled out of her mother's embrace, confused, reaching for Jane. "What is going on!?"

Clenching her fists first in an effort to stifle the shaking, Jane shook out her hands and gently cupped Maura's face, fear and shock bled into anger across her desperate features, "Your mother and father are going to take you home and stay with you until I get there."

"No," Maura replied staunchly. She looked into Jane's eyes, watched as tears welled up and reached to wipe them away. Only one thing could…she knew. "We protect each other, remember?" Resigned, and with a ragged breath, Jane nodded.

Looking past Maura, Jane caught her mother's terrified stare, "Where?"

"Frankie's room," Angela replied, barely louder than a whisper.

* * *

A Capitol man in a lime green suit was waiting outside the closed door to Frankie's room. The garish coloring of his jacket and trousers magnified by the muted tones of the hallway and the stark white uniforms of the two Peacekeepers flanking the door. Jane and Maura didn't recognize either one of the officers; they too must have come from the Capitol.

"Ms. Rizzoli, Ms. Isles…" the Capitol man spoke, "Or is it…"

"We didn't change our names." Jane cut him off. She wasn't surprised that the Capitol knew about the wedding, but it still felt like an intrusion.

He dipped his head, "Go right in," he urged as he opened the door.

The smell was apparent immediately, filling both of their noses as they stepped over the threshold. Maura squeezed Jane's hand so hard she was sure she would break it. Jane's steps were small and stiff…forced. Part of her still hoped it wasn't what she thought. But, when he turned Maura couldn't contain the small gasp that escaped.

President Hoyt stood ten feet away.

In his hand he held the baseball that had sat untouched on Frankie's dresser for fourteen years. Jane wanted to scream for him to drop it. She focused on the ball to avoid looking at his face, what if his smell forever stained the canvas and stitching? She would have to burn it. He was violating her again. He was in her district, in her mother's house, standing in her dead brother's room, and touching his things. So desperately had she wanted to believe that of anywhere in Panem, there was some shred of safety for her and Maura in District 8. Slowly, she summoned the courage to lift her gaze until they met his vacant, yet piercing blue stare. They weren't in the Capitol anymore. Maybe…just maybe…she could kill him.

Maura seemed to sense the thoughts coursing through Jane's mind and animating her body, she brought her hand up and rested it against Jane's violently erratic heart and shook her head.

"Jaaaaane," Hoyt let her name roll off his tongue on an excruciatingly slow hiss. "Do you dream about me, Jane?" Thin lips crooked into his telltale sneer as he asked.

Maura's hand flexed tighter into her chest. "Yes," Jane answered.

Hoyt closed his eyes and smiled, drawing in a long breath and releasing it. "In your dreams…" he took a few steps closer to them, testing them, toying with them. The Games never ended. "…are we lovers?"

Jane began to shake and even Maura's touch couldn't reassure her.

"No, of course not," Hoyt answered his own question. He stepped closer. "You dream of killing me, is that it?"

"Every night," Jane answered without pause.

"And you want to try…right now," he stepped within an arms reach of them, prompting Jane to pull Maura protectively into an embrace.

"More than anything," Jane admitted unabashedly.

Hoyt paused, watched the muscles in his obsession's sinewy forearms flex and tense as she held her wife. "Do you think I couldn't have her if I wanted her? Right now." He stepped right in front of them and Maura could feel his body heat against her back and his breath roll out to lick at her neck.

Every fiber of Jane's being told her to take Maura and run, but that's what a predator wanted. To see its prey flee, to be given the opportunity to chase and subdue. She stood still, unwavering, and guided Maura's head into the crook of her neck, the intensity of her embrace never lessening.

"One word from me and my guards will come in…hold you down…make you watch." He leaned in and dragged his fingers through Maura's hair and brought the strands to his nose and inhaled. "Make you watch while I have your wife on your brother's bed."

"Don't you touch her!" Jane growled, slapping his hand away. Her eyes darted nervously towards the door, but no one entered.

Hoyt laughed, undeterred. He reached out again and ran his finger over the wedding band on Jane's left hand. Clucking his tongue he shook his head, "You cause me so much grief, Jane. The citizens of the Capitol were so looking forward to a televised wedding as the culmination of the Victory Tour. You have always been so difficult. Do you know how that grieves me? The precarious position it places me in? The delicately balanced order you have disturbed?"

"I don't give a damn about your difficulties." She was finding it harder and harder to hold back.

"For someone that went to such lengths to preserve her life and the life of the woman she loves…you seem so frivolous with it now. So willing to throw your life away, Jane? Maura's life? And of course, there are your families to think of. The patients in that little clinic of yours, why, all of District 8 as a matter of fact. You see Jane, Maura, my problems are very much your problems because the brunt of my current predicament began with that little stunt with the daggers, you see."

He'd had no part in it. Jane had suspected. Their rescue was all the work of Head Gamemaker Gabriel Dean. He'd stopped them from martyring themselves, presumably under the assumption that their dual survival would quell the outcry. But, it hadn't. Before they had even left the Capitol word had spread of dissent and demonstrations. Even now, months out from the next Games, Head Peacekeeper John Martell still fed Patrick Doyle news of disquiet and fomenting rebellion in the districts.

"If Gabriel Dean had had any sense of the bigger picture he would have tripped the switch on those mines and blown you both into oblivion. Alas, here you are. And Gabriel…" His voice trailed off and Jane and Maura both knew that Gabriel Dean was dead.

"Between a rock and hard place that put me as the saying goes," Hoyt continued. "The greatest love story ever seen, some say, but also…the greatest act of defiance. If a seamstress and a plumber's daughter from District 8 can defy the Capitol and walk away unscathed, what is to prevent, say, an uprising?"

_An uprising._ The word was sweet and nourishing on Jane's tongue. She wanted to say she hoped every last living person in Panem was sharpening a blade as they spoke. That when the Presidential mansion was stormed and Hoyt dragged fearful and pissing himself from his garden that she would be at the head of the crowd begging for the honor of slitting his throat.

Unexpectedly, Maura turned in her arms and faced the man ahead of them.

"People will die, Maura. Scores and scores of people. A few of my soldiers and Peacekeepers no doubt, but mostly innocent civilians. The people you treat every day. Men and women, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, children in their parents' arms…all will die. And you, and Jane, and everyone you hold dear…they will be first, that I promise you."

Maura reached for her ring finger and turned the band round and round as her stare held his, unbroken. "We'll play your game."

"The Tour will be your only chance to turn things around." Hoyt breached the small distance between them and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced a clipping of lavender. The back of his hand brushed Maura's cheek as he tucked the sprig behind her ear, leaning in to take a long whiff. "I do so love the smell of lavender and fear." And with that, he was gone.


	2. Promises To Keep

**CH 2: Promises to Keep**

It had been the hard way, but she'd eventually learned not to wake her wife from the nightmares. No, the ghosts that returned when her eyes closed had to be allowed to run their course. They had started up about a week after they returned home from the Games: gripping, violent nightmares that sent her body into convulsions, ripped tears from her eyes, and made her scream and cry out in her sleep. The first time it happened Maura had immediately shaken Jane awake only to catch a swipe of nails across her chest. The second time she'd absorbed a frantic left hook to her eye, and the third time Jane had awakened so delirious she'd throttled Maura and choked her for several seconds before realizing she was awake.

Maura could deal with the physical pain of those incidents. What she couldn't deal with was the immense and crushing guilt Jane had felt after hurting her. So, she didn't wake her from the nightmares anymore.

Like her own, they had grown more infrequent as time passed. And when they did occur they seemed less severe. But, Hoyt had come to District 8 that evening. As Maura stripped down and crawled into bed with her wife that night, she knew there would be little restful sleep to be had between them.

A scream had awakened her, a blood curdling "Get away!" Where Jane had been tightly pressed to her back when they'd sought refuge under the covers when they arrived home, she had rolled away in the grips of the dream. A cry had pierced the silence and then the spastic convulsions and slurred words wracked her body. Maura couldn't make most of the words out. Kill had been the most frequent. _I will kill you_: the only full and comprehensible sentence among the sleep-state gibberish.

Wrapping Jane up in her arms as tightly as she could she spent the night just holding on, trying to soothe her through the dreams with whispered words, reassuring kisses, and comforting strokes. Eventually, the nightmares had loosened their hold and let their victim relax into a few untortured hours of sleep. Maura never relinquished her embrace, however, holding Jane tightly to her chest, feeling every single rhythmic change in her heartbeat as she struggled through the ebbing emotions from dream to dream. As the first light of dawn broke through the darkness and crept into the room, Maura wearily opened her eyes. She was on her back, Jane, half on top of her, her face buried in Maura's neck, her body still subdued by her wife's Herculean embrace.

Maura combed her fingers through Jane's still sweat-drenched hair, brushing it back from her face and over to one side of her neck. She was hot, burning up, Jane's bare skin plastered to her own. She ran one hand down the middle of Jane's back, through the remaining perspiration that lingered in the dip that traced her spine. The skin twitched at the touch.

A plaintive moan murmured from Jane's lips, vibrating across the skin of her human pillow's throat as she awoke. Her vision was blurry, head pounding; her body ached as if she was waking up back in the arena she had dreamed of. But, amidst the disorientation and exhaustion there was familiarity. A barely perceptible fragrance. The warmth of skin. The lightest touch roaming all over her. And lastly, a gentle "shh" that whispered over her ear.

"Hey," Maura greeted her softly.

Jane grimaced and reluctantly peeled herself off of the body that had comforted her, "I'm sorry." She buried her face in her hands as she sat up.

Maura kissed her shoulder and again wrapped her up in her arms, "You have nothing to be sorry for…"

"I kept you up all night, I'm sure."

"No," Maura disagreed, "Not all night."

Jane huffed. "Don't play your word games with me."

"Most of the night," Maura assented.

"Why can't our nightmares like…sync up or something? Then we could keep each other awake on the same nights and get some sleep on the rest?"

Maura chuckled and kissed the crown of Jane's head, still damp and tasting of salt. "We'd be a poor comfort to each other on those bad nights if that were the case. I need to take Jo Friday out."

The little dog's presence had almost slipped her mind. She had been oblivious to the animal's whines of commiseration during her nightmares. Looking over the edge of the bed she could see the glint of eyes looking back at them through the door of the kennel Korsak had given them. Jane smiled, "I'll get dressed and go with you. I think we could all use some air."

* * *

They'd found a quiet alley between buildings to let Jo Friday do her business. She seemed to have adapted to the cast quite well, paying it very little mind as she sniffed along the wall of the building and amongst the boxes and bags of trash and other discarded items. When she had finished, Maura scooped her up, swaddling her in a blanket and made to conceal her in her bag.

Jane watched, scoffed under her breath, and then when she was sure Maura was about to do what she thought she was about to do… "You are not about to put that dog in your purse, are you?"

"Satchel," Maura corrected, tucking the content creature down into the bag, closing the flap and smiling as a tiny black nose poked out from the corner and sniffed.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" Jane laughed.

"Dogs are technically illegal, remember?" Maura winked and they made their way out of the alley and back along the sparsely traveled street. Jane's original excuse for not keeping the dog had been weak. Most of the district knew Korsak kept animal contraband, including the Peacekeepers. No one ever said a word, just like no one would say anything to them, as long as they didn't flout the law too recklessly.

Snaking her arm around Maura's waist and pulling her close, Jane let her head rest against Maura's as they walked. The nightmares had been particularly awful. Flashbacks to her first Games and the second. A brutal reliving of Hoyt assaulting her that seemed to go on and on without end. And worst of all, completely fabricated nightmares of Hoyt with Maura. A chill shot through her and Jane gasped, panic seizing in her throat for a moment and cutting off her air.

Maura's hands took hold of her face and held her firmly, "I know they're terrible. But, they're just dreams. Look at me…" she shook gently until Jane opened her eyes. "You will always wake up from them. And I will always be there when you do."

They walked on, forging a circuitous route to Darla Flannery's bakery in hunt of warm croissants and maybe a few fudge clusters. People nodded and waved as they passed. They had become heroes in a way Jane had never imagined. She wasn't the sullen, standoffish victor to them anymore, not that she felt much about her demeanor had changed. It was Maura. It was her love for and desperation to save Maura that made her approachable. Made them both approachable. A few better known acquaintances stopped them and chatted, and finally the bakery was in sight.

"Oh…crap…" Jane muttered under breath.

They both put on their best smiles as Mayor Pike exited the bakery and approached them. "Maura, Jane, what a pleasure! I suspect you're here for the same reason as I! Nothing like a fresh, hot croissant on a chilly Saturday morning is there?" His sparse yellow-grey hair was combed over to one side, blue eyes half-hidden behind thick spectacles. There was always a peculiar awkwardness about him, as if he didn't quite know how to relate to people. Instead of erring on the side of silence, Pike engaged. "Jane, may I say…you look stunning today!"

Jane quirked an eyebrow and glanced down at her outfit, tattered jeans, her oldest pair of boots, a threadbare long-sleeved t-shirt, and her father's coat to top it all off. "Uh…thank you, Mayor Pike." He nodded his head and continued on his way.

Maura looped her arm through Jane's, "I think he likes you."

"Vomit," Jane faux gagged. "He's like…old enough to be my father…" With a loud intake of air she stopped them in front of the bakery door. "You're jealous! Aren't you? Because Mayor Pike tells me how 'stunning' I am every time he sees us." A wry smile spread across her face.

"Not hardly!" Maura replied, doing her best to look as dismissive as possible. "Besides, Mayor Pike can flirt with you all he wants."

"Is that so?" Jane countered disbelievingly as she held the door open for her wife.

"Mmhmm," Maura purred, passing close into Jane's body as she entered the store, lips brushing against her lover's as she whispered. "At the end of the day, I'm the one you take your clothes off for."

* * *

They never knew when someone would come banging on their door in the middle of the night. It was part and parcel to being the best and most trusted apothecary in the district. District 8's one and only Capitol approved physician would have closed up his office hours before and no one really knew who Lucius Black was, the kind-eyed healer who ran the clinic with Maura during the day and now lived in Jane's old apartment. He had come back with Jane and Maura from the Capitol, assumed the name Dorian Costas, and spun a tale of benevolent volunteerism with the added benefit of improving his triage skills. In the dark of night, however, it was still Jane and Maura's apartment door most of the citizens banged on when trauma struck.

Jane pulled on a robe and rubbed at the sleep in her eyes as she made her way towards the sound. Before she even reached it she could hear the moans and sobbing of a woman and the additional voices trying to calm her.

Henrietta Paxton, one of the projects' midwives, burst through the door, followed by two burly men carrying a woman in labor. "It ain't right! It just ain't right! More babies than I could ever recall I've pulled crying and screaming into this world. I know when it ain't going right!"

"Ok…" Bewildered by the jarring greeting, Jane stepped out of the way as Maura emerged dressed from the bedroom.

"She's been in labor for twelve hours," Henrietta continued. "It's breech. And a stubborn one at that. Tried all my tricks and nothing and she's bout near too exhausted to keep going. She's been bleeding pretty bad too."

Her name was Landy Foust, a factory worker like almost everyone else in District 8. She was soaked with sweat, her face would have been red from exertion and tears were it not ghostly pale from blood loss, hands trembling as Maura took one in her own and pushed her limp black hair back out of her fearful grey eyes. "I'm going to do my best to help you, Landy." Maura looked at the two men who had served as Landy's litter, "I'm going to need you to get her to the clinic where all the supplies are. Jane, I need you to go get Dorian as fast as possible and meet us there."

* * *

"Landy, do you have any family?" Maura asked as she began to run an IV and assess the young woman's condition. She was fully dilated and experiencing normal contractions. Henrietta relayed the entire labor experience thus far to her. By the midwife's account, Landy should have already given birth, if it weren't for it being breech. Breech births weren't uncommon, and before the Dark Days when all of the districts were more advanced there would have been functioning hospitals and doctors prepared to deal with such occurrences. But, that wasn't the case now. Midwives passed down folk methods of getting a breech baby turned, many times they were forced to manually try to right the child in order to allow for delivery. Still, pregnancy and birth in the districts was as dangerous a task as any. Obstetrics wasn't an area Maura had as much experience in. There were plenty of midwives in the district and they usually handled most of the births. Occasionally, a woman that was particularly fond of Maura insisted she deliver the baby. A problematic birth was an entirely different case. Infant mortality rates in District 8, like all of the poorer districts, could be staggering.

"No," Landy replied meekly. "No family, they're all dead. And my husband..." She was too overcome to finish the sentence, struggling more and more just to stay conscious.

"Kevin Foust…" Henrietta arched one of her scraggly grey eyebrows as she said the name, "…was part of that group got caught stealing the defects from one of the warehouses and beat that Peacekeeper near to death that stumbled on them. He was sent…"

Maura shook her head and cut the old woman off. She knew where Kevin Foust had been sent. And if he wasn't dead, what had most likely been done to him. They had been stealing winter clothes. Items that came off the assemblies with imperfections deemed unusable in the Capitol. The small group had dubbed themselves the Robin Hoods. Rarely, did they keep anything for themselves. "Landy, this is going to be uncomfortable," Maura warned her as she checked for herself to confirm Henrietta's diagnosis of a breech. Her attempts, just as the midwife's had been, proved fruitless to right the infant. Worst of all, as Maura did her best to monitor the infant's heart rate with the rudimentary tools she possessed, she could tell that the unborn child was fading along with the mother.

"Save my baby," Landy whispered. "Cut him out."

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment as she peered towards the door, hoping that Jane and Lucius would walk through it any moment. "I…I can't, Landy. A caesarian is major surgery…I'm not skilled enough. Dr. Costas will be here soon."

It wasn't the first time a woman had made such a plea in District 8, though never to Maura. When they said those words, "cut it out," they knew the end result for themselves. They also knew it was the only chance their child had to survive. The woman began to cry, her shaking hands moving to her belly. "It's not moving. Do it. Do it now."

Maura laid her hands over Landy's and closed her eyes as the clammy, trembling hands underneath hers withdrew. With her fingertips and palms against Landy's stomach a frightening stillness met her touch.

* * *

Jane was breathless and exhausted by the time she and Lucius arrived at the clinic in the Victor's Village. Apparently the young woman in labor wasn't the only one in District 8 in need of medical attention that night. Since he had occupied Jane's apartment in the projects and gotten to know some of the workers, Lucius found his door frequented occasionally in the middle of the night when a worker got sick or was injured on the job. His apartment was closer to the factories than Maura's or the clinic. The citizens were starting to trust him, and if it was a minor injury or a sudden sickness that required a simple herbal concoction they would sometimes forego waking Maura and come to Lucius instead. That night an equipment malfunction had left Stephen Gordon with a nasty recoil laceration on his face in dire need of stitches. Jane had had to call on three factories before she found the doctor.

A deafening silence met them as they entered the house, Jane barreling into the first exam room to find Henrietta seated next to the exam table, holding a limp hand. A blood-soaked sheet covered Landy's body. Henrietta looked over her shoulder at Jane and Lucius in the doorway as she pulled the sheet higher to cover the woman's face. "She got to see him. She was able to hold on long enough to see him." The white-haired woman's voice was steady and calm. Forty years of birthing the district's children meant Landy wasn't the first mother she'd seen slip away.

With trepidation, she walked down the hallway; Jane could hear the soft creak of the rocking chair against the floor in the last room that was set up for overnight patients. Maura was sitting in the chair, facing the window. Kneeling beside her, Jane brushed a few of her wife's tears away before folding back the blanket from the bundle in her arms to see the child squirm and open his eyes. "I'm sorry," Jane murmured. "We got here as fast as we could."

Maura closed her eyes and nodded. "They were both going to die…if I didn't…"

Jane stood and hovered over Maura, gathering her in an embrace, the child wriggled between them. "You did everything you could. You saved him; he'll get to grow up because of you."

Hot and agonizing tears again streaked her face as she looked down at the baby in her arms. "Daniel. She said if it was a boy to name him Daniel. He's alone. There's no one…She…she made me promise he would be taken care of…"

Straightening up, Jane could sense the road Maura's guilt was dragging her down. But, this wasn't a street dog rescued from some collapsed rubble. This was a baby, a human child, and one day his name would have to be written on a slip of paper. She looked at Lucius in the doorway, her eyes pleading for help…for an out.

"Willa Abernathy on the fifth floor of your…my building just gave birth two weeks ago. If we offered her some groceries, I bet she would take the boy until something permanent could be arranged," Lucius offered.

"No," Maura choked out. "He doesn't need a wet nurse, he needs a family."

"Maura," Jane urged an increasingly distraught Maura to her feet. "Look at me." Knowing what was about to be said, Maura shook her head and focused entirely on the baby in her arms. "Look at me," she repeated. Begrudgingly Maura let her eyes rise to meet Jane's.

"He should be with someone who wants him…" She tried to explain. A last ditch effort.

Jane's face softened, pursed lips relaxing as her deep brown eyes simmered with sympathy. She reached out, one hand cupping Maura's cheek as the other stroked lightly through her hair. "I know." And she did. "I know what you see when you look at that woman in there and when you look at this baby. I know you wonder what it would have been like if Hope hadn't died, and I know you grew up feeling alone a lot of the time and somewhat distant from your parents. But, they love you and they always have. They wanted you. Do you think Constance would have taken you from Doyle's arms that night if she didn't want you? You were given a family, and there may have been rough times but look at the amazing person you became."

The baby flexed his stubby digits and Maura lightly caressed his palm until he took hold of her finger. "I thought…we could be his family."

"And we'd what? Take him on the Victory Tour with us? Talk to Caesar Flickerman about him during the interview? Look in Hoyt's eyes and know that he knows he has one more person's life to hold us hostage with? And in twelve years Maura, will you be the one to dress him the morning of the Reaping, or will I? And when they call his name…and they will call his name, will we go as his mentors to the Capitol, or send Korsak? Will we keep a straight face and lament our poor dumb luck at the complete randomness of the drawing?" Jane knew the picture she painted was harsh. She also knew the cruelty of President Charles Hoyt.

_One day_, Maura had said on their way home from the Games, _we'll have a Frankie of our own. One day_, Jane had replied, _but…not as long as the Games exist._

Though it hurt immensely to accept it, she knew Jane was right. "I never thought I wanted children, until I fell in love with you. I see her in my dreams, Jane. That little girl we talked about on the train. I imagine what it would be like to feel her inside of me. I want us to have that family. But, more than anything, I want our family to be safe." Maura leaned down and kissed the baby boy's head before reluctantly handing him over. Staring out the window she refused to watch as Jane passed the child to Lucius, the infant's burbling cry as he was handed off striking like a dagger in her chest.

Jane sighed into her neck as she wrapped Maura in her arms from behind. "When I came back from the Games the first time I thought I would be alone forever. I decided it was better that way. No one could hurt me and most importantly I couldn't hurt…or cause anyone else to be hurt. And you ruined all that," she chuckled, "for the better. And you've made me want things I never thought I wanted."

Maura turned in her arms and tilted her head until their cheeks rested lightly together. "After we survived the Games, you said: now we live. This doesn't feel like living."

She felt a phantom touch on her stomach, the sensation of Jane's hands when they had sat in the window of the return train months ago. _Promise me something_, she had said after revealing the dream she had of their daughter. _Promise me we'll have this._

"I made you a promise, Maura. Have I ever not kept a promise to you?" Jane pushed Maura back to face her.

"Jane, you are the only person in my life who has never disappointed me."

"I'm starting to think I set the bar too high," Jane let a half smile grace her lips as she spoke, running her thumb over Maura's dimple when she chuckled in turn. "We have some decisions we need to make though."

The serious intensity in the last sentence was palpable. For all of their post-Games fantasizing of bringing the Capitol to its knees, once they had returned to District 8 they had done little that could be considered revolutionary or rebellious, opening the clinic aside. _The Tour will be your only chance to turn things around._ The only chance to extinguish the flame their victory in the arena had ignited. The only chance to quell a simmering uprising. If they did, Jane thought about that for a moment, Charles Hoyt would remain President until he died. And every day that he drew breath, she and Maura would lose one more day to freely draw theirs, one more day lost to truly live.

"Yesterday," Jane took hold of both of Maura's hands as she spoke, "you told Hoyt that on the Victory Tour we would play his game."

Maura slipped her hands from Jane's grasp and pulled her forward into a kiss, holding it for several long seconds until she relinquished her control of Jane's lips. She ran her thumb over one of Jane's eyebrows and across her cheekbone, trailing it down to the flushed lips she had just so passionately kissed. Stone-faced, Maura replied, "I didn't say for whose side."


	3. Mockingjay

**Author's Note:** This chapter is rated M. The story will be moved shortly to the M category, just want to make sure everyone has the chance to make note of it.

**CH 3: Mockingjay**

Patrick Doyle had been arrested in the Capitol and charged with treason: attempted interference with the victors of the Hunger Games. Given the choice of execution or living out the rest of his days as an Avox in the Capitol, he had chosen life, such as it would be – voiceless and enslaved.

That's what new Head Peacekeeper John Martell told his fellow officers in District 8 when he returned. By the time Doyle and Martell had taken the hovercraft to the Capitol to try and stop Hoyt before it was too late, everyone in the district knew that Head Peacekeeper Paddy Doyle was Maura Isles' father. Any one of the other Peacekeepers could have intervened when Doyle made his way to the vehicle yard. Any one of them could have reported to the Capitol that John Martell knew exactly why they were going and that it wasn't on any official orders. Doyle wouldn't have had an out then, Martell likely would have been executed or incarcerated alongside him, and the informant would have reaped the rewards of his service to President Hoyt. Yet, none of them had. Just like none of them reported to the central office in the Capitol when a civilian occasionally showed his face in the dark of night in District 8 looking for all the world like former Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle.

Word had spread like wildfire through the population, just as John Martell had hoped it would. Patrick Doyle was no beloved figure to the people, but Jane and Maura certainly were. They couldn't keep him sequestered in a basement forever and the secrecy might not last, the Capitol always seemed to have a way of finding things out, but, if reports from the other districts continued to herald the coming storm, secrecy might not be needed for long.

Cautiously, as days turned into weeks and then months ticked by, Patrick Doyle had emerged from the basement apartment Martell had set him up in. Mostly at night. Mostly to frequent the fights at Cavanaugh's or another of the liquor houses. Sideways glances tracked his every move, conversations turned to hushed whispers as he sat. It was his fifth time to Cavanaugh's before someone other than booze-peddling old Pete approached.

"Buy you a drink?" Scraggly Martina J. asked as she noisily pulled up a bar stool next to him. Her skin was leathery from age and lack of care, her hair brittle and chaotic. She'd been a dye specialist once and people around the district liked to joke it was the chemicals in the industrial tubs that turned her a little batty. Those that disagreed said she was just an average run of the mill drunk. "Martina, they call me," she extended her hand as if they were meeting for the first time. As if Doyle himself hadn't busted her on public intoxication more than once.

Doyle drained the last of the swill that passed for old Pete's current batch of beer. Piss yellow and tasting about like it looked. His eyes cut towards her and then back at his mug as he set it on the scrap wood that served as a bar top. He couldn't hide forever. Either the people of the district would forgive the man they knew as Patrick Doyle before the Quarter Quell and let him live in anonymity, or one day Peacekeepers from the Capitol would walk through Cavanaugh's doors and drag him out towards a death he had so narrowly avoided. He extended his hand, "James. James Cogan." It was his father's first name and his mother's maiden name; he had decided on it on the train back from the Capitol.

Martina tapped two bent and knotty fingers on the bar to get old Pete's attention, "Three shots of white, two for me, and one for my new friend, James."

Doyle smirked and watched old Pete pour three shots of his white liquor from an unmarked green bottle. He picked up the shot and then looked at the woman on his left, "Now, why would you buy an old man like me a drink?"It was a test. He had to see how she would respond.

She shrugged, "You look like a man who could use a drink. To the last," she said as they clinked shots and threw them back.

_To the last_. It was then that he knew. The citizens of District 8 couldn't report a fugitive that didn't exist. Patrick Doyle had been arrested in the Capitol for treason and sentenced to live out his days as an Avox. It might be a lot to expect for them to forgive him…to like him. As he watched Martina hobble away and the whispers and sideways glances ripple through the warehouse basement it occurred to him that at least on some level, they respected him. And respect was enough to let James Cogan live in District 8 while Patrick Doyle suffered his punishment back in the Capitol.

* * *

He awoke with a pounding in his head that felt like his veins were trying to pump pellets of cement rather than blood. His joints ached from age with the accompaniment of dehydration. As he smacked his lips, he wondered if he'd spent half the night with his mouth open and stuffed with cotton it felt so dry.

Doyle rolled over with a groan; he'd imbibed over the years, a few times to excess. He never purchased the beer himself; it wouldn't look right being the Head Peacekeeper and all. But, it was common knowledge that the Peacekeepers sometimes bought booze and turned a blind eye to other indiscretions. It was a matter of degree: like Korsak not traipsing his pack of rescue dogs around the district in the full light of day, or the citizens taking care not to arouse suspicion as to their evening social activities with inordinate displays of public drunkenness. That was the way of the poorer districts. The Peacekeepers let things slide. Sometimes, ignoring a few of the laws kept the people in line more than draconian enforcement of every minute subsection of the penal code.

Several minutes lingering on the disorienting precipice of a half-sleep passed before Doyle realized that what he thought was an audible pounding in his head, was in reality, a steady knocking at his door. Shirtless, he stood, checked to make sure he at least had on pants and staggered towards the sound. In a way it had been thrilling to get drunk, to throw away the conservatism from his days as Head Peacekeeper. Willful disregard of the law and pursuit of something totally for his own pleasure, at least at the time, reminded him of those stolen moments with Hope. And the more he had thought of her last night, the more willing he had been to accept just one more drink.

After Martina had bought him the shot of white liquor, a few other patrons had approached and plunked down their meager stash of coins to buy him a beer. It seemed a grand idea at the time. Too many years had passed and his memory had conveniently pushed aside recollections of the after effects of too much alcohol. Each drink presented with the toast, "To the last," the last words Haymitch had spoken to Jane in the arena, the same words he'd said in training to try and signal the alliance Korsak had facilitated had now become a verbal sign of solidarity with Jane and Maura.

Maura regarded his disheveled state when he opened the door, "You're hungover," she stated plainly as she walked in. Jane followed with a knowing half-sided smile. She'd found herself on the ragged tail end of a bender at Cavanaugh's more than once, though she usually had a few marks from the boxing ring to go along with the drunk.

"I am," he admitted.

"We can come back later," Jane suggested.

"You should have called," Maura scolded. "I could have brought you an analgesic for the headache and some ginger tea for the nausea."

"It's not that bad," Doyle motioned for them to sit on the sofa in his dimly lit apartment. It was that bad, but it seemed somehow better if she didn't know that. "I think it was the shot of white liquor that did the worst." He saw Jane wince in obvious commiseration. "What I have to show you is very important. You leave for the Victory Tour in two weeks. If I'm right about this, it is critical knowledge for you to possess before embarking on the Tour."

He retrieved a robe from his bedroom and belted it before pulling over a small, wheeled cart laden with a television and video equipment. Without a word he pressed play as familiar footage rolled across the screen.

"District 13," Jane stated at the sight of the skeletal and torched remains of buildings. Doyle fast-forwarded to another broadcast, the same ruins, this time a Capitol reporter standing in front of them. He fast-forwarded again, more of District 13, the same reporter in different dress again with the remnants of the holocaust as her backdrop. It was more than familiar to Jane and Maura. It was one of the Capitol's trump cards: the bombed out decrepit façade of what had been the seat of Panem's nuclear research. They trotted it out on nationwide broadcasts about once a year. More frequently in the past according to the older generations, when rebellious sentiments still burned brightly following the Dark Days. The message was clear: If we can do this to District 13, the same or worse will come to you. On and on Doyle flipped through the various iterations of the same theme, the visual of destruction and the yearly reports from the bones of the fallen by the conqueror.

"I pulled all of the clips we had on file here in District 8…well, Martell did. And I spliced them together to run on consecutively on this tape," Doyle wound the film back to the beginning. "We're so used to seeing this, year after year, that we don't even notice…"

Maura's eyebrows knitted together as she watched the clips again, straining, trying to see what it was Doyle wanted them to see. "It's the same ruins…the same vantage point…"

Jane began to scrutinize the clips more closely, "So? They film the same spot over and over. That was District 13's Justice Building, they must figure it'd be symbolic to always do the broadcasts from there…"

Suddenly, it began to click. "No," Maura cut her off, "It's not just the same vantage point. Look. The season never changes, the weather, the lighting…the building ruins…the ruins are untouched, unchanged. There should be wear from the elements, loss of further structural integrity, flora resurgence."

Jane still didn't see the big deal, "The Capitol nuked them Maura. It's a wasteland; there won't be any plants. Maybe they always go and film it at the same time each year."

"Look more closely," Doyle prodded.

Simultaneously, Jane and Maura leaned forward. Doyle played the next clip in slow motion, and then the next, and then the next…until. "Oh my," Maura gasped, shifting to her knees on the floor in front of the television, her finger pointing to the upper corner of the screen. "It's the same footage, the exact same footage, time after time. Look, a Mockingjay flies across the view here…" Doyle fast-forwarded, "…and the same here…" on to the next clip, "…and again. Every time."

Jane brought her fist to her mouth and bit down on one of her knuckles, overcome with the implications.

"The footage is fake, or a single shot from the first rebellion recycled to hide the fact that…"

Jane cut Doyle off, "There are still people in District 13."

"More importantly," Doyle continued, "If there are people in District 13 and the Capitol has left them alone all these years…then there are weapons in District 13."

* * *

_This changes everything. Everything._ Jane paced in circles around their apartment as she mulled over the revelation Paddy Doyle had apprised them of. _It could work. An uprising. It could really work._ She paused and noticed Maura sitting cross-legged on the floor staring into the flickering flame of a candle. "We just got some of the biggest news of our lives and you're…"

"Meditating." Maura finished the sentence for her. "Your information processing and coping mechanism, i.e., your pacing, is exacerbating my stress levels."

Jane cocked her head and put her hands on her hips, "Well, I could go back to my old coping mechanism and blow off some steam at Cavanaugh's and leave you to your silence."

Hazel eyes flashed open and reflected the small light from the candle, "Absolutely not! You promised you would never…"

With a wave of her hand, Jane silenced her and moved the candle to sit down in front of Maura. "Give me your hands," she extended her palms and smiled as Maura laid her hands atop them. "I'll never cause you pain like that again. Every promise I make you, I make with the complete intention of keeping it forever."

With a knowing smile, Maura looked down at their hands, "I know."

"This," Jane took a deep breath, "this discovery…it's absolutely epic in significance. Maura, you were right, we weren't living. Not before the Games and not after. And a couple of weeks ago when we decided we wouldn't play the game Hoyt thinks we're going to play…"

"You thought it was futile," Maura nodded, knowing, because she had felt the same way. Yet, there was a freedom in defiance, even that which would be futile and without ultimate reward. Because it was the only time they truly had control. "You thought…we would probably be killed after the Tour."

Jane reached out and took Maura's face in her hands, her thumbs circling back and forth over her cheeks. She had to keep them moving or else she knew the throbbing from the scars in the center of her palms would send waves of tremors through her hands. "Before today, we had peasants. Peasants with pitchforks and hammers against the might of the Capitol's bullets and bombs. But, I was so tired of seeing you sad. I was tired of looking over our shoulders. Tired of finally having everything I've ever wanted and constantly fearing some sadistic bastard could snap his fingers hundreds of miles away and take it from me. Take you from me, our future, everything that could be, all of the happiness we could have if he was just dead and everything he built was what was in ruins. I was ready to die just for the smallest chance it might work, just to let him know that no matter how terrified of him I may be, there are parts of me and my life he can't have."

"He knows," Maura whispered, crawling forward and straddling Jane's lap. "He knows he'll never have your submission, never your obedience, never your love. He keeps trying to break you, but deep down, he knows that he can't."

"He could," Jane shook her head. "If he hurt you, he could. I would break."

Maura tightened her embrace around Jane, winding one hand through her hair as she kissed her temple. "No you wouldn't. No you won't. You will never give him that satisfaction. No matter what happens, you promise me, you promise me you will never give him that satisfaction. Because if you do, he wins. And I'll be damned if that son of a bitch is going to win."

Slackjawed, Jane pulled back out of the embrace to look Maura in the eye. She had spoken with a passion and resolute determination that took Jane completely by surprise. The woman in her arms made her want to promise her everything, whether she truly believed she could keep it or not. As she said the words she hoped that her face didn't give away how completely unsure she was of her own ability to hold it together if something should ever happen to Maura. But, she said it anyway.

Jane pulled Maura into a kiss, knowing that the strength and domination of her lips and tongue against the other woman's would portray greater conviction than her words possibly could. Kissing Maura was tantamount to taking a substance, but unlike any substance she could imagine. The rush always centered in her chest and rippled through her body like a current. She'd felt it, that light-headed euphoric high the first time she had kissed a shy girl with sandy brown hair on the playground before their first Reaping, and she felt it every time since.

Maura pushed her back to the floor and greedily took the control Jane happily ceded. There had been a few boys when she was a teenager, a few men after her first Games when she tried to convince herself that not every man was Charles Hoyt. She never could give any of them power over her, and after the Games, no one was allowed inside. Until Maura. Maura owned her, every part of her, physical and otherwise. And she let her; because Maura had always treated her person with more reverence than the demons she'd brought back from the Games had allowed her to muster on her own behalf for too long.

Stripped of her clothes, Jane closed her eyes. Along her back the industrial carpet of the apartment floor was coarse, but on top of her, Maura's skin slid like silk down the length of her body. Lips and tongue left searing imprints that prickled with the cool air as her kisses traveled to a new spot. Jane felt her nipples tighten and ache for continued attention as Maura's ministrations slowly moved lower. She kept her eyes closed, feeling her lover all over her, her kisses, her playful bites, the tickle of her hair as it dragged across her chest and stomach, the sensation of Maura's nipples ghosting across her own.

Jane could hear her own ragged breaths echoing in her ears and the little moans Maura made that indicated she took as much pleasure from touching as she did from being touched. The anticipation of Maura touching her where she wanted it most, and the payoff of that sensory shock was so much greater when she kept her eyes closed.

When Maura's tongue finally made contact where she desired it, Jane's body jerked and her hands instinctively grappled for a hold in the honey-streaked locks splayed across her lower abdomen.

"Promise," Maura whispered before sating herself on Jane's arousal, her tongue swirling through satin and teasing her lover with maddening flicks.

"I…promise," Jane managed shakily as she writhed, her back arching and her hips rolling as Maura's mouth closed around her and sucked her to release.

Her skin twitched and her body jerked as if each touch of Maura's hands and mouth burned her. She waited patiently for Maura to crawl back up her body. Jane opened her eyes just as Maura's mouth descended on her own, the taste of orgasm fresh and slick on her lips. She could feel Maura's resolve to keep her pinned to the floor waning, her touch grew softer, the way she kneaded Jane's breasts almost pleading as she plaintively hummed and kissed her under the ear. Jane rolled them over and smiled as Maura's legs spread and wrapped around her.

"I'd give you the world," Jane moaned as she rocked their bodies together.

"I don't want the world," Maura gasped as Jane reached between them and found her wet and aching for touch.

"What do you want?" Jane slowly pushed two fingers inside, pumping in and out slowly as she watched the hazel eyes looking back at her flutter.

Maura bucked to meet Jane's thrusts and take her more fully, "Just you. Our family. Freedom." She cried out as she came, legs tightening around Jane and anchoring her inside until she rode every last wave of the pleasurable release to Jane's curling fingers.

"I love you," Jane whispered as she relaxed into Maura's embrace with a deep breath that filled her head with the phantom taste of her subtle homemade perfume, salt-tinged skin, and sex. "I always have."

Maura smiled, letting her forehead rest against Jane's as her lover's breaths tickled across her excited skin. "I love you too. I always will."

* * *

There was only one way fomenting the uprising could work. If Jane and Maura openly incited rebellion on the Victory Tour they would be arrested and likely killed. The Tour stops were highly regimented, Jane and Korsak knew this from past experience. They would have little contact with anyone in the districts beyond the official mayoral welcome contingent. They would have to send envoys. It was a shot in the dark, but one they had to take.

It had taken two days. Doyle and Martell carefully selected citizens whose absences wouldn't be too noticeable and paired them with sympathetic Peacekeepers. The envoys sent to the districts would bear the video evidence pointing to the existence of District 13 and a letter. The envoy sent to District 13 would bear only a letter and a silent prayer that something waited for them across the vast and deserted landscape.

They only had two weeks before the Tour; some of the districts were too far to be reached on foot or for the little distance the few motorcycles and one tank of fuel that had been garnered could carry them in that time and some of course, like the Career districts, would be downright inhospitable. _Six, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen_, Jane had stated finally. _They're all we have the chance to make it to_.

Maura wrote the letters, five letters for five enslaved districts and one a plea to the big brother they thought was dead.

Jane pulled one of the letters from its envelope, the one marked 12 and looked out at the small group of people assembled in Cavanaugh's basement. "Most of you will carry a letter like this, to one of our fellow districts, and a video of the looped footage from District 13 that we've shown you. They read as follows:

_Dear people of District 12,_

_You now have in your possession what we believe to be evidence that District 13 was not destroyed in the first rebellion, but in fact has existed in secrecy, free and independent of the Capitol. A letter just like this one has also been sent to other districts. What you choose to do with this information is for you to decide. Here is what we hope you will choose: look into your children's eyes and ask yourself how many more must be sacrificed for "peace" and "stability"? Two more? Four, six, one hundred? Our silence and our tacit consent allows the Hunger Games to continue and tyranny to further entrench itself in the Capitol. How many more children shall we watch kill one another so that we can continue to live in the deluded fantasy that the Games are the better alternative? We say: not one hundred, not six, not four, not two, not even one. No more. We are nothing more than slaves, pawns in a cruel and inhuman game. Yet, united, and with the help of District 13 we can cast off the shackles of our oppression. We were born to be free, yet we live in chains. No more. Freedom is not given, it must be taken, and win or lose, we are freed by the act of defiance in the name of justice_."

Jane lowered the letter and looked out at the rapt faces in front of her. Some she had known since childhood. Some were unfamiliar to her but whose trustworthiness was backed by Korsak, Doyle, and Martell. "So," she looked at Maura and reached for her hand, "with your Peacekeeper escorts you will leave at midnight tonight. Your escort will deliver you past the fence and through the security perimeter. You know the risk you take by agreeing to do this. I hope, one day, we'll see each other again and enjoy the rewards of the danger we're all courting."

She spread the letter out on the table and reached for a pen to sign it, "Set the fire," she murmured.

"And watch it burn," Maura added.

"Stop!" A voice rang out from the back of the small group as Joey Grant made his way to the front. "Don't sign it with your names. If one of us is caught along the way or if the district decides to turn us over, they'll know for sure you were involved. If your names aren't on it, there's no direct link. You might be safe."

"He's right," Doyle stepped forward. "Anyone that makes it to their destination can relay who the letter is really from once they know the district's mayor and people are allies. Otherwise, it's better left unsaid."

"What should I sign then?" Jane looked down at the blank signature line.

It dawned on him then: a symbol of rebellion and the ability to overcome the Capitol's trickery. Korsak grinned deviously as he joined Jane and Maura at the table, "Sign it, The Mockingjay."


	4. Let there be Light

**CH 4: Let there be Light**

The night had been dreamless because it had been sleepless. She had even tried some of Maura's meditation tricks, yet the endless minutes ticked slowly by in the darkness. Every time she closed her eyes her mind became overwhelmed with anticipation, with memories of the first Tour, with wondering whether any of their envoys had reached their intended destinations, with the greater question of whether there really even was a District 13 left for Joey Grant to find.

Maura had fallen asleep almost immediately, and Jane was grateful for that. They shouldn't both have to suffer such a draining insomnia that night. Eventually, she had just given up and contented herself to pass the hours holding Maura, listening to gentle breaths, running her fingers over still and warm skin, lightly inhaling the soft fragrance of her hair.

Now, a soft grey light seeped into the room and ushered out the darkness. Jane watched the line of light roll slowly over the covers of the bed and fall to the floor only to slink up the wall ahead. Maura didn't stir, not even when Jane carefully pulled the covers down to expose her naked body to the rare sunlight and chill in the air. Tracing a patch of goosebumps up her arm and over her shoulder Jane's fingers gravitated towards the web of scars on Maura's back.

The sidewalk had been gritty under her hands and knees when she had stumbled, and when Peacekeeper Crowe had cuffed her to the lamppost. And wet. She could remember the cold wet sensation saturating her pant legs and biting at her skin. It hadn't rained that day and for a moment she could remember her mind trying to puzzle out why the ground was wet underneath her. But, she had been too drunk to come to a conclusion. Years later she knew what it probably was: vomit, piss, or if she was lucky the spilled contents of some other drunk's mason jar who had left the liquor sink before her.

She touched each scar, fingertips drinking in the puffed-up, knotted memories as she moved from left to right across Maura's upper back. Leaning forward, her lips replaced her hand as she kissed each mark she had just so tenderly caressed. The taste of Maura's skin was sweet, not like the taste that wafted through her nose and mouth when she recalled that night.

Metal. Metal and strong liquor. There was blood in her mouth, she could taste it but she didn't know how it had gotten there. The liquor had been long drunk but the powerful fumes still burned her nose and throat as she inhaled and exhaled. The acrid and gripping taste of vomit was just on the back of her throat and every time she sobbed Frankie's name she was sure she was going to throw up. People were all around, shouting, but she couldn't make out their faces or their words. No one in the district had ever mentioned that night once it had passed. She had accepted she would likely never know who the onlookers were that had crowded around her in the darkness. Maybe they had tried to intervene with words, but in the end, only one actually had made a move of any meaning.

Her lips lingered on the biggest scar, a gnarled and raised behemoth that stretched diagonally from Maura's right shoulder, all the way across her back to her left side just above her hip. It had been the deepest cut, and the subsequent infection and debridement had cultivated a prominent reminder of that night. The other lash marks, while terrible, were nowhere near as bad. Jane wondered if the sight of how easily his whip had eaten into and filleted such soft and unblemished flesh had taken Crowe aback, if how red the blood had been and how freely it flowed at his hand had caused him to let up just a little.

When the weight fell on her back, Jane cried even harder, expecting the thunderous crack she heard echo through the air to strip flesh from bone as easily as one might swat a fly from the rim of a glass. There was no pain, and the screaming voices from moments earlier had fallen eerily silent, the _whoosh – crack, whoosh – crack_, the only noise she could hear over her own futile cries for her dead brother.

Nothing could hurt more than watching her brother die, she thought. _Whoosh – crack. Whoosh – crack_. Peacekeeper Crow could flay her until there was nothing left, and when nothing remained but her exposed and broken heart feebly squeezing just one more spurt of blood through her veins, she wouldn't cry as the whip sliced that weak organ in half because nothing could hurt as much, nothing could be as coldly paralyzing as having watched Frankie die in the Games. When that dagger went into his chest, she thought the last bleak light that flickered within her had been snuffed as well. It was then she felt the weight on top of her, realized it was all across her back and wrapped around her chest and stomach, flexing and jerking with each _whoosh – crack_ that echoed through the emptiness. And the restraints weren't straps, but arms, fingers digging into her skin with each blow, muffled cries of agony spilling over her neck and flooding her ear. The ground underneath her knees was still gritty, but the cold wetness was gone, replaced by warmth. There was someone on top of her, taking the blows for her…bleeding for her.

Jane closed her eyes, her hand kneading Maura's skin as she kissed each scar so quickly and frantically it was almost as if she feared she would miss one and they would be gone.

The intensity of Jane's attention to her back awakened her; Maura rolled over and pulled Jane close. Brown eyes shimmered on the verge of tears, so Maura beat them back with soothing kisses, smiling as Jane's eyelashes fluttered and tickled her lips. She kissed her eyes, her forehead, down her nose, across each cheek, and finally covered Jane's lips with her own, vanquishing the taste of that night that still lingered in Jane's mouth with the warmth of her tongue.

"Mmm," Jane murmured as Maura pulled back, her fingers raking through Jane's tousled curls.

"Do they…" Maura paused, waiting until Jane opened her eyes, "…do they remind you of Frankie dying? It was selfish of me to keep them. When we're back in the Capitol, I can always ask to have them removed."

"No," Jane responded emphatically. She knew what it was like to have scars, to hate them, but strangely…to need them as well. "What do they remind you of?"

It wasn't a smile that Jane expected to see slip across Maura's face, but that's what followed her question. Maura caressed her cheek as she answered, "How long I've loved you. How far I'm willing to go to protect you."

"That's why you should keep them." Jane pressed their lips together and the force of her move rolled Maura onto her back. "Every time I see them, I hear you say that you love me. And every time I touch them, I'm telling you I love you back."

Suddenly, everything felt urgent. Hands pawing and grasping at already naked skin. Lips and tongues vying for dominance. The words alone made Maura feel so close she couldn't wait for any buildup or wandering fingers and certainly not for the time it would take Jane's tongue to work its way lower. She wrapped her legs around Jane and bucked until they each adjusted, found contact, and settled into a quick and purposeful rhythm.

Knuckles rapping on the old, hollow wood of the apartment front door froze Jane mid-thrust. A near growl rumbled in her throat as her forehead came to rest on Maura's temple. "Let's ignore it…they'll go to the clinic if we don't answer. Lucius should be there by now."

A knowing smile was on Maura's lips but her eyes gave the real answer. She kissed Jane once more, soft and delicate at first and then playful, ending with a nip to her lower lip that promised of continuation. "We have to answer it," she said, sitting up and forcing herself to push her wife aside, despite how badly she wanted to still feel Jane's body on top of her. For all the horror they had been through, for all the trials she knew they were yet to face, when Jane made love to her, she felt free.

Jane pulled the covers over herself and wrapped her arms around her legs, trying desperately to quell and ignore the frustrating ache that she had been so close to satisfying. She watched Maura don a robe and go to check on the caller who was still knocking loudly on the door.

From the other room Jane could hear Korsak's voice, and she realized that in those reclaimed moments of touching Maura she had let the gravity of the day slip her mind for just a few minutes.

"They're here," he said. "It's time."

* * *

"Jane! Your hair!" Venia was the first to come flailing and shrieking at them as they entered Angela's house. The assistant's aqua-colored hair was gelled into spikes that jutted out all over her head. The style reminded Jane of the maces that were sometimes provided in the arena. Her gold facial tattoos had also expanded, spiraling from her eyebrows to her hairline and down her cheekbones. It was old hat to Jane at that point but she couldn't help but smirk when she noticed the queer looks on her mother's and Constance's faces as their eyes roamed over the strange Capitol stylists in their midst.

"I just woke up," Jane offered as a weak excuse. Just having rolled around in and out of bed might account for the mussed look and rampant tangles but not for the split ends and lack of shine. But then, her hair never looked like it did when she was in the Capitol. She had no stylist in District 8, save for Maura's occasional whim, and no fancy shampoos or deep conditioning treatments other than the oil and herbal concoctions Maura sometimes talked her into using.

"Oh, there, there," Octavia patted Venia's shoulder. "We'll be able to fix this in no time." Octavia was still green, though it seemed a different shade. Jane didn't know what to call the hue, though she figured Maura probably did.

Flavius was busy gushing over Maura. "Such a beauty this one. We barely had to do anything at all the last time! Barely anything at all!"

Cinna approached them last, as the rest of the prep team prattled on about the makeover plans and the Victory Tour and how the next Games would never live up. His presence, just as before, immediately gave Jane a sense of calm reassurance. It was strange, Jane thought, he was only a stylist, yet; the softness in his eyes and the sureness in his every move conveyed a greater feeling of safety than anyone, other than Maura, could offer.

"You look great," he smiled as he said it and they embraced.

"And you're a terrible liar," Jane responded with a chuckle.

"No, it's not a lie. You're happy; it makes all the difference," he looked to Jane's right as he spoke and smiled at Maura. "And you," he smiled even wider as Maura stepped into his open arms. "I hope the dress was appropriate."

Her eyes welled up at the memory of opening her closet to find that flowing silk dress, a note pinned to the garment bag: _She likes you in blue. ~Cinna_. "It was perfect."

The prep team went to work, seating Jane and Maura side by side as they primped, painted, and styled. Every time Jane attempted to steal a sideways glance at Maura, Venia huffed in dismay and grasped her by the chin to wrench her face forward again. She couldn't help it; it didn't matter to her what she ended up looking like at the end of all the fuss. But, she couldn't help but think that Maura was born to be pampered and dressed in beautiful clothes. Not like in the Capitol. Like how Cinna dressed her: understated as far as Capitol fashion went, elegant.

Effie stormed in like a cat with its tail on fire. They could hear her shrill sing-song voice before she ever even entered the room. She was handing out orders to Jane and Maura's family and Capitol camera crew alike. Jane reached for Maura's hand and squeezed. It never got any easier being put on display for all of Panem. Mostly however, the Victory Tour brought its own special kind of trauma: stops in the districts and ceremonies with the families of tributes that never made it home. No fancy clothes, no amount of makeup expertly applied could create a shield against those blows. Even tributes that had not been their allies had families; families that loved their fallen sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, as much as she knew her and Maura's parents loved them. In the coming days, for the second time in her life, she would have to stand face to face with the districts whose brethren had died so that she could live. She hadn't been able to bring herself to discuss it with Maura. In reality, there was really no way to prepare for it.

* * *

Cinna dressed them for the cold. It seemed as if over night the dead of winter had made a resurgence. It was wont to do that from time to time. Tease that the gripping cold was over and spring was on its way only to grow bleak and bitter again and leave District 8 dusted with snow. Snow had begun to fall heavily while they were being prepped; Jane and Maura paused to look out the window of the house in the Victor's Village. Maura didn't mind the snow so much; she hooked her arms in Jane's and settled against her side. District 8 was grey so much of the time; the snow almost gave it the appearance of cleanliness. At least at first, until factory smoke and car exhaust melted it black and brown.

Effie clapped her hands and practically squealed with delight about the special ambiance the snow would bring to the outdoor shots of them leaving. "Attention! Attention everyone!" She called out. "We're about to do the first outdoor shot and isn't this just perfect! The victors will exit the house and…oh, wouldn't it just be marvelous if you admired the snow!? Oh, I think it would! Yes, yes…then, we'll proceed to the vehicles and make our way to the train station for the send off. Places everyone! Places!"

A gust of wind blew a billow of snow into their faces as the door was opened. Jane could hear Hoyt's voice echo in her mind, "_The tour will be your only chance to turn things around_." He had no idea.

Between the curtain of snow and the flurry of Capitol cameras Jane wasn't even sure where the car was that was supposed to take them to the station. She shielded her eyes for a moment from the sting of snowflakes and felt a flash of panic in her chest when Maura's hand slipped free of her arm.

"Maur…" she began to call out as she turned, only to feel a snowball bite into her neck and disintegrate upon contact. Jane shook the coat and scarf Cinna had bundled her in but only succeeded in allowing more freezing bits of ice and droplets to trickle down her shirt. She ducked as another packed ball of freshly fallen snow came whizzing past her head. And then it was on. The two of them bobbed and weaved, chucking snowballs at each other as they slowly made their way to the waiting cavalcade. Jane got in a good natured throw at Cinna and the prep team, winking as her stylist laughed and bent to scoop and form a projectile of his own.

Everyone came to a silent halt when one of Maura's ill-thrown balls connected with the side of Effie's head, snow spraying throughout her tangerine-colored hair. She paused, brushed the ice crystals away and then laughed. "Come along! Come along! We have a schedule to keep!"

Jane and Maura slid into their own car, cheeks red from the cold and short burst of exercise. Jane wrapped her arms around her wife and rubbed her arm to help warm her up. "I'd forgotten how much fun it could be to play in the snow."

"When was the last time that you did?" Maura asked, letting her head fall to Jane's soft, woolen-clad shoulder.

"The last winter Frankie was alive. He and some of his friends ambushed me and pelted me with snowballs. I remember for those few minutes, ducking and trying to hit them back, I forgot all about the pain from my Games." She slipped the soft fur-lined hat off Maura's head and kissed her temple. "And just now, it was the same."

Maura smiled, though it was tinged with guilt. She hadn't thrown that first snowball to reclaim any memories from childhood or to give Jane a moment's peace from her worries. She'd thrown it because Effie had said the snow added to the ambiance of the moment, and because she'd told President Hoyt they would play his game, and because no matter their true intentions they needed to make him believe that they were.

* * *

The realization became painfully acute when they had to say their goodbyes at the station. Maura sunk into Constance's embrace and held her tightly in return. In the past six months she had finally been building the relationship with her mother she had always wanted and now the reality of risking it all weighed heavily on her. "I love you," Maura whispered, hoping to protect that personal moment from the prying lense of the camera.

"I love you too, my darling," Constance replied, squeezing her harder. She swept Maura's hair from her ear and let it cover her own mouth and cheek as she whispered. "I want you to have the life you deserve. I want you and Jane to be free. Do whatever it takes and don't worry about me, your father, or Angela. We'll be fine. Patrick will keep us safe."

Maura nodded and took Jane's hand as they climbed the few steps into the train, they turned and looked back one last time, waving to family and friends, and to Panem as the cameras rolled.

Inside, the train was exactly as they remembered it, and swelteringly warm. Cinna, now joined by Portia, attended to Jane and Maura to help them shed the now unnecessary winter layers. A good portion of the remainder of the afternoon was spent half-listening to Effie's run down of the Tour as the train crawled its way towards District 12. Dinner was eventually served amidst casual banter and upon its conclusion Jane and Maura were finally allowed to slip away.

Maura had bounded ahead to their cabin, eager to be alone, while Jane meandered slowly to strategize quietly with Korsak. When she finally arrived at the door to their room the memory of that first night on the train six months ago, on their way to the Games came flooding back. The cold metal of the door handle against her palm, the somewhat comforting rock of the train under her feet, the anticipation of how her advance would be received, and Maura…sitting on the edge of the bed in her underwear.

This time, she was standing in the window, watching the snow-covered fields pass under the last and quickly fading light of day. She'd shed the insulated boots Portia had designed and tossed aside the buttery-soft sweater and scarf as she admired the view. Jane eased up behind her and kissed her exposed shoulder where the silk scoop-neck blouse had lazily slipped off of it. She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of Maura's wool trousers and watched the scenery go by with her for a few moments until one minute it was there and the next dusk had turned to evening with silver moonlight reflecting off the white sheet on the frozen ground.

Jane's hands wandered under Maura's blouse and caressed the soft skin of her stomach as her lips again peppered the inviting skin of her neck and shoulder with gentle kisses.

"We made love here for the first time," Maura murmured, tilting her head as Jane kissed along her jaw.

"Touching you reminds me what I'm fighting for." Jane grasped the bottom hem of the silk blouse and waited for permission, carefully pulling it over Maura's head when she lifted her arms.

"Touch me then," Maura encouraged, moaning as Jane loosed her bra and cupped her breasts, thumbs circling and teasing her nipples.

The touch was fleeting as Jane's hands stroked and scratched down her body, unbuttoning her pants and pushing them down over her hips she continued to kiss along the pulse point of Maura's neck as her hand slipped between Maura's legs finding her already wet. "That was fast," Jane smiled as she withdrew her hand and moved in front to face her.

Maura pulled her into a kiss, losing herself in the warmth of Jane's passion, relishing the last vestiges of the spiced wine from dinner she could still taste on her tongue. Blindly, she fumbled at the buttons of Jane's blouse until she had them all undone and the garment and bra underneath pushed aside and discarded. "We have unfinished business from this morning," she smiled, with a twinkle in hazel eyes gone almost black.

Jane left a trail of tingling kisses down the length of her body as she settled to her knees and pulled Maura's trousers and panties all the way down to the ground, stroking and massaging one calf as she lifted her right foot and then the left so the pants could be completely disentangled from her. With her hands caressing softly up and down Maura's inner thighs she urged her stance wider, parted her and let her tongue slowly lave her center.

Maura threaded her hands through Jane's hair, twisting strands around her fingers and wadding locks in her grasp. She watched, panting breaths falling heavily from her mouth punctuated by intermittent moans as Jane's tongue danced through her arousal, circled and flicked across her apex. Her gaze rose to the window again, and watched the uninterrupted and pristine white streak by. They would win, she thought, and vanquish the fear and uncertainty. They would be able to move beyond the confines of District 8's fences, out to where the beauty of nature was still whole and unblemished by concrete and smoke. They would be free.

She closed her eyes, gently rolling her hips as Jane's tongue pushed inside and withdrew before circling her clit and sucking her to a long-awaited release. Maura came, her body trembling, hips thrusting to Jane's ministrations as her hands anchored her lover to her. When it was over she kept her eyes closed and listened to their dueling breathlessness and the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

Jane's hands stroked firmly up the backs of her thighs and buttocks, holding Maura's lower body in an embrace as she kissed her abdomen and then rested her cheek against it as Maura combed her fingers through the knots she'd twisted in Jane's hair. They stayed like that for a while, until Maura settled to her knees and cupped Jane's face, tasting herself on her wife's chin and lips as they kissed. They sank into a mutual embrace, tangled in one another, Maura twirling a strand of Jane's hair between her fingers as Jane's hands traced the scars on her back.

Maura could feel the excitement in Jane's chest steady and her muscles relax as she sighed and grew more limp in her arms. "We deserve to live," she whispered.

Jane nodded, "We do. And we will."


	5. Midnight Train

**CH 5: Midnight Train**

By train, District 12 was only a few hours from home. It made no sense to arrive in the middle of the night; so, somewhere along the route they had come to a stand still while everyone slept. There was no vibration or constant rocking, no dull monotonous sound of wheels on steel tracks when Jane woke as the sun rose. With Maura nestled tightly into her side she was beset with the smallest glimmer of hope. District 12 was the closest. Of all the envoys they sent, perhaps Shane Finnegan and his brother had the best chance of reaching their target.

District 13, if there really were still people there, was the next closest. Her mind wandered to Joey Grant and Tommy trekking through the wilderness hoping that the ghosts of the conquered weren't really ghosts at all. She thought of her mother's tears of anguish when they had sat her down to tell her Tommy would be one of the envoys. Hoyt had shown up once. He could show up again. Though Jane didn't like to think that one of her own people would betray her, the fear that Tommy could be discovered grew greater with each passing day. He would be safe in District 13. If there still was a District 13.

The train lurched forward and Jane knew that meant they would arrive at their first stop in about an hour. Gently, she shook Maura awake. "We're almost there, we should…"

Effie was as perfectly timed as ever, knocking on the door and calling from the other side that the prep team was ready for them. At least she knocked. She had learned her lesson on flinging the cabin door open from their trip to the Games half a year ago.

* * *

"You've memorized your speeches, I assume?" Effie questioned as Cinna, Portia, and the rest of the prep team put the finishing touches on Jane and Maura's appearance.

The Capitol always provided canned speeches for the victor to deliver in each district, though it was expected that if the victor had any special allies from that district they might add a few personal remarks. Jane had won her first Games single-handedly; she'd plodded through each District's speech methodically and without emotion. This time was different.

_Sweetheart._

She heard Haymitch's voice echo her in memory and it made her chuckle at first before causing her eyes to well up with tears. Clearing her throat, she fought them. She couldn't cry. Not now. Not when Cinna had just spent so much effort applying her makeup. And not in front of Effie and the rest of the prep team…they wouldn't understand.

Neither she nor Maura paid Effie's question any mind. Maura would certainly have memorized her part. On this Tour, Jane didn't care about the Capitol's carefully crafted homage to the other fallen tributes.

Maura watched the scenery slip slowly by, mountains, not as big and rocky as those they had glimpsed on the outskirts of the Capitol, but mountains nonetheless. Densely wooded, they couldn't see much beyond the tree line that picked up twenty feet on either side of the train tracks. Snow had fallen in District 12 as well, but it seemed lighter, the ground was patchy where leaf litter and scraggly saplings poked through.

"We'll come into a valley," Jane whispered.

Maura nodded, "These mountains, District 12 mines coal."

"Can you imagine Haymitch as a coal miner?" Jane chuckled as she said it. "If he'd never been reaped the first time…" But, he had been reaped. Twice. Just like her, but she was on her second Victory Tour and Haymitch Abernathy was ashes.

Maura's hand was soft and sure as she covered Jane's and squeezed. "He died for us." She looked around to be sure the prep team had all dispersed. Only Korsak remained seated next to them. "And we'll repay him the best way we can."

Korsak's hand settled on her shoulder, he knew. "If it helps, even just a little, remember that Haymitch didn't have any family."

Jane sighed. _But, Madge did…_ For each ceremony the families of the fallen tributes were given a place of honor in a special section in front of the stage. On the first Tour that had been eleven sets of families; families of tributes she had killed and families of tributes she had not, all wishing that it was their child on the stage instead of her. But, none of them had been allies…none had been friends. She had been spared that particular pain the first time. Haymitch didn't have any family, but the youngest Quarter Quell tribute was the daughter of District 12's mayor and the niece of the tribute that had gone into Second Quarter Quell with Haymitch twenty-five years ago. Madge may not have been a friend or an ally, she died starved and dehydrated in the trunk of a tree in the arena savannah, but she had family…a family whose circumstance reminded Jane so much of her own. Maura looked at her, perplexed by Korsak's comment. Jane squeezed her hand in return, "You'll understand when we get there."

* * *

District 12 reminded Maura of home in a way. Nature eventually bled into stripped land, dirty and grey, but as they reached the perimeter she realized it was actually even poorer. The electric fence they passed through looked decrepit, its posts covered in rust, and its guard towers unmanned. Inside the district, no buildings of merit interrupted the skyline, save for what passed as their Justice Building. The air was filmy and heavy with sooty smoke. Whereas District 8 was a monotony of concrete and stone 12 was its own monotony of dirt and mud.

Mayor Undersee and a small contingent of administrators and Peacekeepers met them as they entered the Justice Building. It was plainly evident that he had been crying: bloodshot eyes and tear-stained skin; his voice quivered despite his best efforts as he greeted them. "Allow me…to welcome you to District 12. It's an honor to…"

"You don't have to say it," Jane interrupted him. Silence overtook everyone save for Effie's astonished gasp. "We're very sorry for your loss." She stared into his eyes, looking for a sign, the smallest hint that the Finnegans had made it to District 12 with the letter.

Mayor Undersee forced what little of a smile he could muster and took the hand she extended. "Thank you," he murmured, though nothing else of his demeanor gave any indication that their meeting was more than the usual Victory Tour fare.

They were ushered to a small room in the Justice Building where a breakfast, large by District 12's standards, was laid out. Maura eyed the food and realized that a simple piece of toast and juice would have been too much as the feeling of sickness swelled in the pit of her stomach.

"I…I had forgotten," she whispered guiltily as she sat next to Jane at the table and nibbled half-heartedly at a heel of warm bread laced with swirls of cinnamon and raisins. "Why didn't you remind me? Prepare me?"

The words bit through her and Jane winced. She'd tried so hard to spare herself the buildup to the inevitable that she had left Maura alone to stumble through the first district stop on her own. "Crysta. From District 9. She had strawberry blonde hair and brown eyes…freckles I think that went from cheek to cheek across the bridge of her nose, but I can't remember her specific face. Seventeen years ago, she knelt in front of me and I slit her throat but I don't remember her face." Jane put down her knife and fork and turned to Maura, lowering her voice further so their entourage and the officials from District 12 wouldn't hear her. "Do you know what I remember?"

Maura turned her head to face her.

"I remember her mother. She had hair so orange some fool from the Capitol would pay for dye that color. She had blue eyes and her skin was so white I thought she was sick at the time. She was…sick with grief. Her dress was brown and it looked coarse like burlap. She was so gaunt I was afraid one good gust off the flat open fields would sweep her away. Maybe that would have been kinder. She had two younger children, a girl and a boy, and an older son, and I remember every single one of their faces. And how they looked at me…with eyes that said: _You should be dead, and she should be alive_. And I know that's what they were thinking, every single one, day after day for eleven districts. Because that's what I was thinking when Gloss came to District 8 on his Victory Tour. He put a dagger in my brother's chest and it wasn't an honor to meet him; and if Korsak hadn't drugged me before the ceremony, I might not have just wished him dead but rushed the stage and put my dagger through his heart the same way he did to Frankie. They'll all look at us like that, Maura…I just wanted to…not think about it if I could."

* * *

The snow in the town square in front of the Justice Building had been shoveled away and left the ground sloppy with mud. From the window of the room they were sequestered in, Jane and Maura could see the district's citizens slogging through the slush and packing into the square in front of the stage. There was no special section for families that time as Mayor Undersee would be seated on the stage, his wife too frail and ill to attend at all. Instead, covers had been laid down in a roped-off section for the media contingent from the Capitol.

"Big smiles!" Effie encouraged as ushered them out onto the stage, hanging back, she would watch the broadcast with the prep team from inside the Justice Building. Jane and Maura obliged begrudgingly with forced smiles, but it was expected, they had to play their game.

The applause that greeted them was loud, but not joyous. The district had its part to play as much as any other player. Scorn the victors and the Capitol would bring hell, fire, and brimstone down on them through the Peacekeepers and cut rations.

Mayor Undersee knew his role too, and the consequences of failing to execute it. By the time the applause died down and he made his way to the podium he seemed a different man from only an hour ago. He gave his speech in their honor without breaking stride, though one particular pause towards the end made Jane wonder if a mention of Madge had been written but redacted on the spot.

Their canned speech went off without a hitch and Jane imagined that back in a cozy, plush room in the Justice Building, Effie was smiling and nodding her head in satisfaction. It was all a grand display to the escort. Jane had often wondered, as she did fleetingly in that moment, what Effie would look like and what she would say when the rebellion broke out and she was confronted with the truth: the districts did not make their sacrifices willingly. Death in the arena was no honor.

Jane stepped up to the microphone. "Maura and I owe your district a particular debt. We can't repay you for the lives you lost. Particularly, one life that was willingly sacrificed so that we would have a chance to live. We made an unlikely ally in Haymitch Abernathy. But, he was more than that. Haymitch was a friend. And besides the selfless act he carried out for us, what I'll remember most about Haymitch were the times in the arena when we forgot the Games for just a little while and talked about life and home." She looked up at the grey sky as a single ray of sunlight poked through, "Rest in peace, friend, to the last."

Maura brought three fingers to her lips and made the sign of honor from District 12 that Haymitch had familiarized all of Panem with. Throughout the square the people of District 12 responded in kind.

_Is it a sign?_ Jane wasn't sure; it could just be a courtesy.

Lastly, two girls carrying flowers ascended the stage followed by a tall, strapping young man with olive skin, grey eyes, and dark hair. The mayor fell in behind the youth as Jane and Maura were presented with the flowers and then the young man stepped forward.

He shook their hands and spoke, "My name is Gale Hawthorne. On behalf of District 12 and in honor of your special victory, we would like to present you with a gift."

Jane and Maura each took a small matching jewelry box from him and opened them to reveal two modest gold-toned broaches. A bird flying through a circle. Jane looked up into his grey eyes and what looked back wasn't sadness, or duty, but a flash of life that tugged the corners of his mouth into the slightest smile.

She looked down at the broach again, closer. It wasn't just a bird flying through a circle.

It was a mockingjay.

* * *

"I'm sorry I didn't talk with you more about what the Tour is like…what it's really like…how it makes you feel," Jane sat down on the enveloping sofa next to Maura in the sitting car of the train.

Not looking up, Maura turned the mockingjay broach over and over in her hands. "We're supposed to confide in each other. We're supposed to share these burdens…otherwise it's all just unbearable. So many days I already feel like I'm barely holding on, like you're barely holding on. And the only thing that keeps everything from falling to pieces is that we have each other; that we're in this together. But, then you go and wall yourself off and not only does it cause me such terrible pain for you, it fills me with terror…it makes me feel so horribly alone. I've already felt so alone for so long and after all of this that we've been through together, I can't suffer that, more than anything else in the world."

"I'm sorry," Jane whispered, hanging her head.

"You should be."

Jane turned on the sofa to face her, "How long are you going to be mad at me?"

Maura took a deep breath and fastened the broach to her blouse, "I haven't decided yet."

Scooting closer, Jane let her hand caress softly back and forth along Maura's arm. "Ok, can I sit here with you until you decide?"

Maura nodded, curling into a ball as she sank into Jane's waiting embrace with a sigh.

* * *

When she woke the next morning and stood naked in front of the small cabin window, Maura was in awe of the scenery that greeted her. The snow was gone, the sky blue and bright with the risen sun bathing verdant fields and leafy woods, a meandering stream ran alongside the train before diverting in another direction.

Maura placed her hand against the window and felt warmth rather than a chill meet her touch. "Where are we?" she murmured.

Jane looked up at her from the bed; she remembered her own awe at the stark difference in weather and scenery on her first Tour, "The outskirts of District 11."

Dressed, they made their way to the dining car for breakfast, but Maura was more interested in observing the land outside. There were less woods and more fields than District 12 had sported. As the train slowed, Maura looked out across the pastures populated by livestock: dairy cows mostly as the beef cattle were primarily raised in District 10, some pig sties and commercial-sized chicken coops, a few horses.

"Horses," Maura whispered, recalling the white and black mares that had drawn their chariot in the Opening Ceremony, how their coats had glimmered as if they had gone through the same preparation rituals as the tributes, and how the white mare's skin had twitched when she had stroked her neck.

"Ma read me a story about a horse when I was really little, a horse that was supposed to be fast as the wind. Sometimes, I daydreamed that I had a horse as fast as the wind and he carried me away from District 8 and no one could catch us," Jane wrapped her arms around Maura and held her tightly as the train began to slow.

"We could ride together," Maura added.

"One day," Jane replied, kissing her cheek.

"Are we stopping? Out here?" Maura moved closer to the window and tried to see ahead.

Jane felt the hairs on her arms stand at attention, "No…"

A massive fence rose before them. Not the modest fence of District 8 or the decrepit rusted wires of District 12, but a gleaming behemoth thirty-five feet tall, crowned with rolled razor wire at the top and lined with metal plates at the bottom. The watchtowers were evenly spaced and frequent, every single one alive with armed guards. Electricity wasn't visible of course but the hum of it was audible as they passed through. It was not a fence you went over, under, or through unless granted passage. Frost had mentioned that law and order was much more strictly enforced in District 11 than what Jane described in District 8. She didn't know why she hadn't remembered the severity of District 11's perimeter containment before. Even if their envoys had reached this point, how could they ever get inside?

After the fence was where the crops began, endless fields of them stretching as far as Maura could see. Bent figures straightened to regard the train as it passed, all ages doing the same labor. "So much food," she whispered. Yet, Frost had plainly told them that the citizens of District 11 were given very little of the food for themselves. Like everywhere else in Panem, what was sown and reaped in District 11 was primarily to service the needs, wants, and appetites of the Capitol.

The crop fields were neverending it seemed, and here and there small bunches of dilapidated shacks sprouted, but their tenants were probably hard at work on the harvest. Whereas the Justice Building in District 12, as in 8 had been just inside the perimeter fence, the train continued on in District 11 with no sign of a proper town for quite awhile.

"It's bigger than I ever imagined," Maura said as Cinna beckoned them to begin their preparations. "The descriptions in school don't do it justice."

"They feed Panem," Jane remarked.

"They feed the Capitol," Maura corrected.

* * *

Structurally, the ceremony was almost identical to the one from the previous day. But, as they made their way out on the stage Maura was struck by the size of the audience. It was large, to be sure, but in no way could possibly represent a fraction of the people that must live in District 11 based on its size and labor needs. She wondered how they did their Reaping every year; surely they must use preliminary drawings to whittle it down to the pack of children that are shown on screen. The vastness of the population's likely size immediately drew her mind to Barry Frost. The statistical improbability that of all the citizens eligible to be reaped in the Quell, the one little girl with the cousin who would volunteer to save her and then to sacrifice his life for total strangers would be chosen.

Rue. She was sitting on the front row, in the special section for the family. _Don't cry._ Maura repeated the words over and over in her head. _Don't cry_. She was a wisp of a thing. Skinny. But, she had the biggest doe eyes and Maura couldn't stop from staring at her throughout the presentation. Frost's mother sat to Rue's left. She wore a sleeveless sundress, though it was faded from years of use. The dress left exposed the well-developed muscles in her arm that were visible in their state of tension. Her entire body was stiff, all the way to her face, though behind the façade there was sorrow. _Stoic_, Maura thought as she looked from the woman across the sea of faces, they were hardened to cruelty and loss, the people of District 11. And now she understood Jane's story from her first Tour. Rue and Camille, she would never forget their faces.

When it came time for their personal comments it was Maura who stood ahead of Jane and went to the microphone. She looked down at Frost's family, "I felt an affinity with Barry before we even met. We all know the rarity of volunteers from our districts. Jane…" she paused and looked over at her wife, "…volunteered determined to keep me alive. And Barry volunteered to spare his beloved cousin. I didn't know him at that point, but I knew his heart, because I knew the heart of a volunteer. I think of him often. He was a man that his family and his district can be proud of. It was an honor to know him, to…even if only for a few days, call him friend. I carry his name with me. As long as I live, the son of your soil will not be forgotten."

It was Jane that found herself fighting tears as Maura spoke, she stepped up to the podium as Maura yielded it. "Maura has a way with words that I don't. But, there is something I want to say. Frost made me promise to pass on a message. I thought that message would reach its destination through the broadcast long before I ever had the chance to relay it…if I even got the chance. When I watched the replay, I realized that my partner…my friend's final words weren't really able to be heard." Jane looked down at the family. "Rue, little bird…" The child smiled and wiped away a tear as Jane spoke. "He said he'd do it all over again. But, don't think of him as gone. When the mockingjays sing back the quitting call, listen closely, and one of the voices on the breeze will be his."

Rue stood and clambered atop her chair and from her petite frame came a haunting whistle that a sudden wind carried across the square. The hushed crowd began to stir and then a whisper rolled through the ranks. Suddenly, from the center of the mass of spectators a slight part revealed an elderly man who began to hum. Jane paused as the District 11 leadership began to lead them off stage. The tune was familiar. And then it struck her. In the tree line before the killing field of the cornucopia, where she and Frost had waited for dawn, he had sung to her that very tune with words.

_Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me._

_I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see._

When the man finished, simultaneously, with no doubt but that it had been planned, every citizen of District 11 pressed three fingers to their lips and then raised the salute to the victors.

Jane took Maura by the hand as they were pushed with noticeable hurry back into the Justice Building. _I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see. Did they see?_ _It was a sign. It couldn't be anything else. _A queer sensation gripped Jane in the gut. Neither she nor Maura had said anything explicitly incendiary. Yet, two districts in a row had plainly saluted them. The sudden fear stopped her cold; she turned and made her way back to the veranda doors that led out to the stage. With Maura in tow they pulled open the heavy oak doors right as a pair of Peacekeepers forced the humming man to his knees on the stage and put a bullet through his head in front of the district onlookers.

Maura gasped as the man's body slumped to the stage, bright red blood pooling on the white platform. A crush of Peacekeepers spilled into the square, a wall of them appearing on the veranda, automatic weapons trained on Jane and Maura in the doorway. Her feet were frozen, eyes fixated on the barrel of the weapon that streaked towards her, until…arms wrapped around her waist and lifted, spinning her through the air as the giant doors slammed shut. When she opened her eyes, her feet were back on the marble floor and Jane's arm steadied her from one side as Korsak steadied her from the other.

The elder victor led them through a twist of hallways in the ancient building as the sound of gunshots echoed through the square behind them.


	6. Axis and Allies

**CH 6: Axis and Allies**

"What happened?" Effie's eyes were wide and she tugged nervously on a handkerchief in her hands. "The feed in the Justice Building went out right after Jane's very moving words and then Cinna thought he heard gunfire! Of course I thought that was highly unlikely, but there are crazy people everywhere!"

Cinna and Korsak glanced at each other quickly as they boarded the convoy to their afternoon quarters preceding the elaborate dinner planned for them.

"It was nothing, Effie," Jane replied. She knew she had to come up with an explanation. Maura couldn't lie and was barely holding back a barrage of tears that were simmering just below the surface. "Firecrackers. Someone set off firecrackers in the square."

Jane could swear she still heard shots as the vans pulled away, but Effie and the prep team didn't seem to notice so she wondered if it was just the echo of earlier events in her mind. She thought of Rue, standing on that chair, and Frost's mother next to her. Had they been shot? Would they be detained? Beaten? Tortured?

Korsak followed them into the room provided for their afternoon rest. His face was red and dots of perspiration still marked his brow. Struggling, he finally unknotted his tie and loosed his collar, exhaling as if it were the first real breath he'd had in hours. "That wasn't good."

It was such a ghastly understatement it caused Maura to wheel around violently and shout, "People died!"

Grasping her firmly by the shoulders, Korsak stared deeply into her eyes, "And we knew that would come. Sooner or later, for this rebellion to succeed, people will die. The Capitol will not be toppled with flowery words and a pretty smile. This freedom you want will be paid for in blood, like it or not. If that price is too high then say it now. Read your canned speeches on the rest of the stops; praise the benevolence of the Capitol and of President Hoyt for allowing you both to live. Play _his_ game, then."

Maura's lip quivered and tears streaked her cheeks. Jane pulled Maura from Korsak's stare and sheltered her against her chest. She could feel warm tears dampening her neck and held the sobbing woman even tighter. "It was a sign, Maura. Twelve, eleven, they're choosing to take this risk with us." Twining her fingers through her wife's hair, Jane placed a lingering kiss to Maura's temple, "But, I won't push this if you're having second thoughts. We're in this together, or not at all. Tell me what you want."

Maura took a deep breath and nuzzled into Jane's neck, "I want the life we talk about late at night. I want the Games to end. I want all these deaths to not have been in vain. I want freedom, not just for us, but for everyone."

Jane nodded and lifted Maura's chin to look in her bloodshot eyes, "Then we press on. More carefully, but we keep going."

* * *

District 10 in one respect was seamlessly linked to District 11 from which they had just come: fields and fields of divided, grassy pastureland. But, the fields of District 10 weren't filled with people. Instead, the gentle lowing of herd after herd of cattle greeted the train as it rolled by. The ceremony there also offered a welcomed respite from the previous days' events. Jane and Maura had had no interaction with District 10's tributes and kept to the scripted words the Capitol had prepared. Though envoys had been sent, the weathered citizens of cattle country in their muck-stained denim and emotionless sun-leathered faces gave no signs that the letter had been received or that they were sympathizers to the stated cause. It was both a relieving non-response and a concern.

As the train pressed on to District 9, Jane was grateful in a way: the displays shown them in Districts 12 and 11 had been edited out of the final broadcast, though it was sure that President Hoyt had seen the uncut footage. With a demure stop in 10, she was hopeful that the first two districts could be explained as sentimentality gone awry. She and Maura had been allied to the tributes from 12 and 11; it was more conceivable for such a public display to have occurred there.

Jane slid under the covers and scooted alongside Maura, brushing her hair back from her face and letting her fingertips wander across a smooth and slightly rosy cheek until Maura turned and kissed her. Jane's hand caressed lower, over Maura's shoulder and down her arm, back up, dancing across her collarbone and then down to cup her breast and roll her nipple under thumb. Maura moaned as Jane's lips followed the path her hand had traveled. Suddenly, she stopped, her fingers stroking lightly over increasingly more prominent ribs and the cavernous dip between them.

"You're not eating enough," Jane observed, her brow knitted with worry as her hand continued to roll across skin-covered bone that hadn't been so visible since right after the Games.

"I miss your mother's cooking." Maura tried to distract her, pulling Jane towards her for another kiss. But, Jane deflected, her nose and lips brushing lightly across Maura's cheek instead.

Jane pulled back, managing a faint smile as she laced her fingers with Maura's. "I miss it too. I miss her…Tommy. I miss your mother…and strangely, Doyle. I even miss scraggly Jo Friday…"

Maura chuckled and nodded in agreement. "We'll see them all soon."

"Yeah," Jane leaned down and gave her the kiss she had sought a moment earlier, "But…I need a you to bring back to them. I know this is hard, and it's frustrating and scary at the worst of times, depressing at the best. You have to eat. You have to take care of yourself. You have to be strong…for yourself but also for me. I need you."

Maura sniffled and pressed their lips together again. The kiss was brusque, almost harsh as Maura nipped at Jane's lower lip and dominated with her tongue. She needed to convey that strength was still there…that she still intended to fight. "At night, here with you, these are the only times I can forget where we are and the trials of the coming days. Help me forget again tonight, Jane."

Jane understood, how the simplest touch could consume her mind and create an entirely different reality with every caress, every stroke, and every kiss. "Tonight," she whispered, her hand slipping between Maura's legs to find needy arousal, "it's just you and me. Nothing else."

Desperate hands pawed and kneaded at Jane's back and hair as she slinked lower, letting her tongue and mouth replace her fingers. "Jane…" Maura moaned, arching and rolling her hips at the contact. For the first time in days, she closed her eyes and there were no flashes of the Games, no haunting visage of Hoyt, no sounds of gunfire or screams ringing in her ear. There was only Jane. How her skin felt kissed by fire where her lover's hands roamed. The tingle that rolled like electricity across her giving her goosebumps and making her hair stand on end. Gentle breaths trailing like invisible fingers across her inner thighs. And soft moans that vibrated against her center as Jane's tongue stroked, circled, and flicked, working her closer and closer to orgasm until warm lips closed around her apex and suckled her softly to release.

Blank. That's how she felt in her afterglow. Gloriously blank. No thoughts. No worries. No fears. Just Jane. Jane's fingers scratching down the outside of her legs. Jane's lips kissing her center, the short curls of her mound, her abdomen, over each hipbone. Long dark waves of hair cascading across her midsection, tickling her playfully as Jane settled on top of her, squeezing her breasts and sucking at the sensitive spot just under her ear.

"Again," Maura begged breathlessly, spreading her legs and wrapping them around her wife. Jane entered her quickly, smiling at the gasp that elicited. Her thrusts were strong and deep, curling on the way out before pumping back in, the action of her hips driving her fingers as deep as they could go.

Eyes closed, Jane listened, her own soft grunts as she filled Maura with stroke after stroke, Maura's interspersed moans of pleasure and gasps of excitement when Jane shifted or curled and hit a particular spot. Opening her eyes, she pulled back enough to watch. The body beneath her jerked and rocked with each thrust, a thin sheen of perspiration visible across her pale neck and chest. Her eyes wandered down, following the flush that crept from one breast to the other, nipples rosy red and erect from excitement. Jane bent down and took one in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the pert bud before taking it in her teeth and tugging. Maura cried out and crumbled under the touch, body tensing, legs locking around Jane's hips before she lost all control and let the waves of shivering spasms consume her entire body.

Jane smiled, amused, as each place her hand touched was met with twitching skin. She settled, partially atop Maura and stretched out along side her. A single tear crept from the corner of her wife's eye; Jane kissed it away, unconcerned as a satisfied smile accompanied it. They lay that way for several minutes with nothing but breaths and light touches. "Just you and me," she repeated.

Maura nodded, her eyes fluttering as Jane's fingers again slipped between her legs to find her wet and plump with desire and ready for Jane to make her forget everything all over again.

* * *

There was a distinct familiarity to District 9 with its rolling, waving fields of tall spindly grass on the outskirts. They had been there before, on the way to and from the Quell. It was on land like this they had picked the aster flowers, with Jane's coat serving as a makeshift pot to take them back to District 8. The same aster flowers that had thrived and spread amongst several re-pottings: tough, hardy, and adaptable. Maura closed her eyes and she could picture those flowers, in the office of the clinic, where the sunlight was the most frequent. Further into the district the prairie fields of wild grass were replaced with a sea of green to amber wheat. When the wind blew, the fields that ran along next to the train had their own movement, shadows dancing lithely through the crops as they undulated: the bread basket of Panem.

Like the more rural districts of ten and eleven, the train pulled into a station unaccompanied by much of a city or civilization. As she peered out the window into the distance, Jane could see towering silos, the glint of the sun off the metal of factories, and she could smell the distinct and pervasive aroma of bread that she remembered from her previous tour. She thought of Stanley, the sour-faced tribute from 9 that had been reaped in the Quell, and how he had eaten lunch from several plates so the different food items wouldn't touch. And she thought of Crysta: _I'm glad it's you_, the girl had said. She wondered if Crysta's mother would be there, if she would even recognize her if she was…seventeen years, her once vibrant copper hair had probably dulled to an indistinguishable grey.

Maura took Jane's hand as they stepped off the train, remembering Jane's story about the tribute from District 9 that she had slain. Ghosts. Everywhere there were ghosts. It occurred to her, that even if their plans were successful, certain phantom memories would always linger.

The official contingent waited for them at the end of the platform, next to the mayor and Peacekeepers, two girls in too-thin dresses being whipped by the wind held wicker baskets teeming with rolls. As they approached Jane could see the mayor turn and whisper to the Peacekeepers, something about it seemed odd, she slowed, squeezing Maura's hand as the line of Peacekeepers began to separate.

"Oh my God…" Korsak stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide in disbelief, his hand covering his mouth.

Maura could feel Jane shaking and looked up to see tears streaking down her wife's face as she sobbed openly.

So much was the same: the hair, though it was thinner, the face, though it had more wrinkles. But, his eyes, his smile, and the way he held out his arms expectantly…the same.

"Pop!" Jane cried out, pulling away from Maura and running towards her father.

Frank was crying, Jane was sobbing; Maura turned into Korsak's embrace as she wept. Cinna let the tears roll down his face, smiling as even Effie dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"There's my Janie," Frank murmured, kissing his daughter's cheek as his hands anchored themselves to her head and back, as if at any moment someone would try to tear them apart.

Slowly, they parted just enough for their eyes to meet. Jane's lip quivered as she tried to choke out words, "What are you…here…how?"

It was as fresh a wound as ever she'd had, the memory of the last time she saw her father. The Games hadn't just broken her; they had broken her parents' marriage as well. When she had returned the first time and lay mired in the darkest depression under the covers in her new room in the Victor's house, the only words that ever passed between her mother and father had been shouts. She had been reaped, Tommy had been taken, and even though she came back, she wasn't the same Jane.

_You can't pretend she's still your Janie, Frank! Not the same one they took from us!_

Her mother's voice, raw and shrill still rang in her ears. The creak of her door as Frankie slipped in and climbed under the covers with her, pulling her reluctantly into his arms as their parents fought.

_She can be, Angela! But not with you coddling her like she's damaged. She's strong! She'll get over it!_

_Get over it._ Jane pounded her fists into Frankie's chest, beating until he cried out in pain and pushed her away. She threw the covers back and ran down stairs; stopping in the doorway to the kitchen as her mother threw a slap against her father's face so hard it made her own cheek and palm sting in sympathy.

He turned, with nothing but the clothes on his back, and left. He never saw her standing there, never said goodbye, and she never saw him again.

_That's it! Run away! Run away like you always do!_ Angela screamed, slamming the door behind him.

"I'm still your Janie," she whispered, resting her cheek in her father's hands as he wiped at her tears.

"I know," he smiled. "I shouldn't have left…"

Jane shook her head, "I don't want to think about that anymore. When I was ready to find you, you were gone…and I didn't know where, or if you were even still alive."

Frank ran a finger through his daughter's hair, smiling, remembering the fits her unruly locks had dealt him when she was a child. "Field irrigation. District 9 had a need for plumbers. They would have taken who they needed whether they wanted to go or not, so…I went ahead and volunteered."

"Are you good, Pop?"

He nodded, "Never better than right this moment." He glanced past Jane's shoulder. "Can I meet her? I'd like nothing more than to meet her."

"Yeah," Jane laughed, a smile spreading across her face. "I'd love for you to meet her."

"But first, one more thing," Frank pulled her into another hug and settled his mouth near her ear, speaking softly so no one else could hear him, "The people of District 9 said to tell you…to the last."

* * *

That night, it was Jane who was curled up in the cushy viewing window of the sitting car, watching barely discernible night-black scenery pass by. Maura settled down next to her and opened her arms as Jane eased back against her, pulling Maura's arms tight around her chest as she sighed.

"It wasn't long enough," Jane lamented. "It's been almost seventeen years and all I got was a few hours."

"I know," Maura commiserated, resting her head against her forlorn wife's. "But, he's alive when you thought he was probably dead. Tommy was given back to you. You'll see your father again."

"I hope so." Jane closed her eyes. _If we win._ Every day there seemed to be more riding on the rebellion's success. If they won, she would see her father again, assuming he made it out of District 9 alive. If they didn't win…she tried not to think about it, but reality was what it was. If they didn't win and Hoyt stayed in power, they would likely all die. She only prayed she died first, without having to see those she loved suffer.

"You look like him," Maura smiled as Jane chuckled. "You have his coloring and his eyes. When he hugged me, I don't know, I felt…like there was this piece of you there."

"He was my hero when I was a little girl. I wanted to be just like him. But…then he left." Jane turned on her side, wrapping her arms around Maura's waist as she nuzzled her head under the other woman's chin.

"We all make mistakes. You'll have the opportunity for him to rectify his."

Jane closed her eyes and listened to the lulling sounds of the train, Maura's gentle breaths cresting over the crown of her head, and the soft thump of the heart her palm had raised to cover.

"Jane…?"

"Yeah," Jane nuzzled in closer.

Maura kissed her and closed her eyes, "Thank you for sharing your family with me."

* * *

The proceedings in District 7 were practically a haze, a cold and constant rain that rendered the dense lumber forests heavy with mist only served to scatter Jane's concentration further; she almost stumbled over the speech Effie had given her but fortunately Maura was there to cover the mistakes. Jane found herself staring at Johanna Mason, District 7's only victor since Blight's death, as the rest of the ceremony inched by. Johanna stared back, her face a mask. Towards the end of the presentation, she rose and ascended the stage, batting away the lackey that offered her an umbrella to shield her from the rain. She approached the victors and presented them with a woodcarving. With a wry smile she leaned in to Jane, "The trees whisper words of the country in rebellion. Wouldn't want that, would we?" Winking, she walked away. Still unsettled from the reunion with her father, the exchange barely registered to Jane.

District 6 was the first non-rural stop on the Tour. It seemed to Maura that there were almost more hovercraft flying around the skies of their origin point, than in the Capitol. The district's two remaining victors again had a place of honor. Maura noted their gaunt faces, sunken eyes, thin hair, and the way they scratched at their skin under their clothes. Addicts, she ascertained. Looking out across the crowd, many seemed to have similar features; whether from drugs or oppression, she couldn't be sure. They hadn't seen as many Peacekeepers in a district since District 11. While Jane was seemingly regaining her wits, Maura took it upon herself to offer their personal words for Giovanni. He had given them the map to the Careers' camp, the map that had allowed them to form the plan that would ultimately lead to their victory. On the front row, Giovanni's mother fought futilely to hold back the tears, ultimately succumbing and weeping at the praise of her son's heroism.

By the time they reached District 2, Maura was afraid she and Jane looked about as good as the addict victors from District 6. District 2 and then 1 would be their own special hell. They would find no sympathizers to their cause there. Jane found Maura sitting in their cabin staring at her hands.

"There's no blood on your hands Maura," she knelt in front of her and took Maura's trembling hands in her own.

"I killed him." Maura's face twisted as she said it. "It was so easy, in that moment. I just drove that dagger right through his throat…and I would do it again. And sometimes, I have a hard time hearing myself say that."

Jane stood and pulled Maura to her feet, still holding tightly to her hands, "Just remember, we're doing this as much for Casey Jones and Ian Faulkner as we are for Frankie, Frost, and Haymitch. Because…they didn't have to be the men that they were. The Capitol, their districts, the Games made them that way. Sometimes, I feel the sorriest for them. Frost died fighting for something bigger than his own survival. Casey and Ian just died, more a slave of Hoyt than any of us."

They could hear the cheers from District 2 well away from the station. Shouts and cries of elation and celebration. That's how it was in the Career districts, for some twisted reason they had embraced the Games. Their victors were revered…celebrities. Victors from other districts were honored and decorated as well. Slaves, yet favored ones…Jane wondered how the Career districts would react when the rebellion began in earnest.

She leaned down and placed a soft and comforting kiss to Maura's lips, "Two and then one and then…"

"The Capitol," Maura whispered, reaching up to cup Jane's face and press their foreheads together.

Jane took a deep breath and released it slowly, "And then the real game begins."


	7. Exodus

**CH7: Exodus**

The Capitol was more exhausting than any of the previous stops: a concatenation of overwhelming appearances before raucous and adoring crowds. The buildings themselves seemed to gleam with excitement and everywhere they looked colorful waves of people flocked to see them, a rainbow ocean of hats, scarves, and over-flourished attire so busy that actual faces blurred together into some featureless whitewash punctuated only by dots of vibrantly painted lips.

Maura looked out across the cheering masses, her eyes always falling to the children perched on the shoulders of their parents for a better view. Children. Children, whose names had never and would never be placed in a Reaping. There would be no uprising in the Capitol. For a fleeting moment, she felt guilt. To raise up the other districts, to set them free, she would seemingly be destroying the lives of the citizens in the Capitol. That's how they would see it anyway. It shouldn't have to be that way, but it was. And people would die. Some of the very children in front of her perhaps. At times it seemed a heinous price.

Almost eighteen years ago, Gaia Baldrick had reached into the mass of papered slips, a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye, chest swelling with pride and excitement.

"_For the girls, Jane Rizzoli."_

And she had stood there and watched the girl she loved from afar walk towards certain death because then…that was all she could do. But now, she didn't have to stand by and watch anymore.

Was it a heinous price? It was. Was allowing the tyranny of the Capitol to persist and the Reapings to continue on indefinitely more heinous? Maura felt sure that was an even bloodier course. And as much as that dagger of guilt sliced at her gut when she pictured the propaganda the Capitol would broadcast: slain children lying bloodied in dingy streets, she knew she had to press on.

* * *

Caesar Flickerman was jovial as ever, and just as blue from head to toe as he'd been six months earlier – hair, lips, a sparkling powdery blue contrasting against the navy velvet of his suit trimmed in royal satin. Jane hated seeing him in that color, when she thought back to her wedding day and the gorgeous blue dress that Cinna had left for Maura, and further back still to the little girl in the blue dress with the white trim that so enraptured her that first day of school. Only Maura was allowed to wear blue. It just looked wrong on everyone else.

There were no surprises in the questions, the Victory Tour interviews were almost always nearly identical, though somehow Caesar's consummate showmanship made it seem completely fresh to the audience year after year. He asked about the months since the Games. They of course lied. No one wanted to hear about the nightmares, waking up drenched in sweat and screaming. They couldn't speak of the clinic. Jane talked about their wedding day to the cooing delight of the audience, about family dinners with her Ma and Maura's parents drawing out awws and sighs of content from the onlookers. He asked about the Tour. They lied…by omission. The events from early in the Tour had not been broadcast. Maura praised the hospitality of all of their hosts, the beauty of the districts, the camaraderie and stirring welcomes of the other victors and citizens. But, in reality, it had been just as Jane recalled. In most of the districts the citizens looked on with disdain, at times even a flicker of hatred. And the Victors that remained were distant if not outwardly hostile at the loss of their friends, especially those in Districts 1 and 2, whose Victors Jane and Maura had slain with their own hands.

Then, Caesar asked about the future. Jane felt a lump form in her throat.

"The future…" she repeated, almost fumbling with the words. _I want to tear down the fence around District 8 with my own bare hands. I want to see the watchtowers around District 11 burning. I want the President's mansion in the Capitol in a heap of ruined rubble. And I want to watch President Hoyt's blood, red and wet, flowing over the blade of my dagger as I slit his throat and watch him die._

Jane reached for Maura's hand and squeezed it; they looked into each other's eyes for several seconds. The damage from the first Tour stops had to be rectified or Hoyt would descend on them as soon as they were home. She looked back to Caesar and smiled, "We want to start a family. We want to have a baby together. I know the Capitol has amazing technology; we hope that maybe soon we can come back and make that dream a reality. That's what we see in our future."

Caesar was crying, dabbing at his cheeks with a white handkerchief, wiping at moisture his act made everyone believe was real. Out in the audience women and men alike had tears in their eyes as they cheered and clapped. But, the sight of Hoyt striding across the stage in a surprise visit left Jane gasping for air. He cupped Maura's face for an excruciating moment and flashed a yellow-toothed smile. Jane could smell him before he even moved in front of her, that unsettling aroma that always floated in the air around him: lilies and lavender trying too hard to mask the scent of decay. A rotten soul no amount of cologne would ever be able to hide. He took Jane by the shoulders and pulled her close, kissing one cheek and then the other. She tried not to shudder and summoned every ounce of strength she had not to cry.

"A baby…" he whispered, his plastic skin stretching and crinkling as he grinned. "All of Panem will share in your joy."

Jane exhaled as he stepped away, Maura's arms wrapping around her and hers seeking the comfort of embrace in return. The questions had been in the forefront of her mind since arriving in the Capitol. _Was it enough? Did he think we played his game?_ With that last whisper, Jane thought that they had, and that just maybe, Hoyt had bought it.

* * *

Effie's punctuality, as sure a thing as the knowledge that the sun would rise every morning, had them back on the train at exactly one o'clock am as scheduled. Weary from exhaustion and subdued by the vast banquet from the final party at the presidential mansion they all grumbled reluctantly as Effie sat them at the table in the dining car to remind them that the Tour was not yet over. Returning to District 8 wasn't just going home, it was the final celebration. Despite the earlier optimism, Jane was instantly reminded that Hoyt's eyes were still all around them.

The effervescent escort who seemed to have no concept of the hour or be the slightest bit fatigued from the festivities prattled on for lengthy minutes about how well everything had gone and the final arrangements for the reception and broadcast from District 8. Jane half-listened, the words floating deliriously in one ear and out the other until they were finally excused and allowed to head to their cabins.

"Do you ever think about Daniel?" Jane placed her finger on the window and traced the outline of the snow-capped peaks in the distance; the only things visible in the night save for the stars. She hadn't thought about the baby since, the one Maura saved that night weeks ago as his mother died. But, now, in the aftermath of the Tour and the interview earlier with Caesar, the image of the wriggling pink infant swaddled in a blanket in Maura's arms occupied her mind.

"Often," Maura answered, rolling onto her back and looking over at Jane. "Come to bed." She pulled the covers back, waiting as Jane slipped out of her clothes and between the sheets.

Stretched out alongside her wife, Jane let her fingers wander softly across Maura's chest. She caressed over bone and felt supple skin give to her touch, as always she paused in the spot over Maura's heart where a dagger scar should have been. But, she hadn't bore down…and Head Gamemaker Gabriel Dean had saved them. She covered that spot with the flat of her hand and felt the steady thrumming of the living metronome hidden beneath fragile organic layers. Jane moved her hand and placed her lips over the area for a long kiss before sliding her body down the length of Maura's. Her hand followed slowly, caressing over the swell of one breast, cupping it and teasing an already erect nipple with the swipe of her thumb.

She dragged one finger down the center of Maura's abdomen, circling her navel before splaying her fingers across the taut, flat stomach and gently kneading. "I was really young, but I remember when Tommy was born. Ma was crying and making all of these horrible noises. It seemed like forever…I got to this point where I was so scared she was going to die that I started to cry." Jane leaned down and kissed Maura's stomach as her fingers continued to trace abstract designs around and over where she had just pressed her lips. "Pop yelled at Nanny to take me away but Ma stopped him."

"_No_,_"_ Angela took a deep breath and tried to compose herself as the midwife dabbed at her sweaty brow with a cool cloth. _"Come here, Janie. Come here baby_._"_

With trepidation she approached the bed and gingerly climbed up next to her mother. _"Are you going to die?"_

Angela managed a small chuckle, _"No, sweetheart, I'm going to be ok. It just hurts is all. Feel." _ She guided her daughter's head down to her stomach and maneuvered one small hand to the spot where the child inside was stirring. _"That's your new baby brother, he's ready to come out."_ Angela gritted her teeth and grimaced through the next set of contractions so she didn't further terrify her already uneasy daughter.

"_Come out,"_ Jane whispered, closing her eyes as her mother pushed. A few moments later the room filled with a different kind of crying. Birth. Life. Joy.

Jane kissed Maura's stomach again, imagining the time when the skin under her lips would be tight, round, and full, when her hands would caress and massage the growing bump as tiny kicks mirrored her touch. Most of all she listened to the echo in her mind of their future daughter's first cry and what it would feel like to take her in her arms for the first time.

"Why did you tell him we wanted a baby?" Maura asked. "That was ours. Only ours. And now…"

Jane looked up, "It's what we're fighting for. But to them, the Capitol…Hoyt…it's the very reason why we won't fight. Because they think we need them."

"We do," Maura covered the hand on her stomach with her own. "For this, we do need them."

"We only need their science," Jane countered. "This is still ours. She is still ours. When the time comes, and it will, it won't be in front of cameras. It won't be some evening special broadcast for all of Panem. We'll hold our daughter in our arms and know that Charles Hoyt will never ever be able to touch her."

Maura pulled Jane on top of her and ran her hands down a determined face before pulling her into a kiss. She spread her legs and felt Jane's body settle between them, allowing her lover to shift and manipulate her until she felt the pressure of Jane's sex against her own. "I wish…" Maura gasped as Jane began to thrust and roll their bodies together. "I wish that we didn't need any part of their help. I wish it wasn't just some dream we keep trying to pretend will be real. I wish…" she moaned, twining her fingers tighter into Jane's hair, "I wish we could have her just from this." She pulled Jane into another kiss, moaning into the mouth that claimed her as two fingers pushed inside. "No science, no doctors, just you inside me."

Jane thrust hard, swallowing the cry of Maura's orgasm with another kiss as she unraveled simultaneously. The exhaustion finally caught up with her and she sank heavily down on top of the body beneath her, breathless, chest heaving, heart racing, she could feel Maura's heart keeping the frenetic pace underneath hers. "It's the one thing I can't give you on my own…" She closed her eyes as the emotions overwhelmed her and shook her body with uncontrollable sobbing.

"Shh, shh," Maura soothed, wrapping her arms around Jane and tangling their legs together. "One way or another, we'll have our daughter. When we hold her and look into her eyes, it won't matter how we got her. Please don't cry. You know it makes me…" Maura squeezed her eyes shut but the tears trickled loose and streaked down her face anyway.

Jane stirred, sniffling, composing herself, and whisking her own tears away with the back of her hand as she let tender kisses catch each of Maura's tears as they fell. "Sometimes, I'm just so exhausted from it all…"

Maura turned her head and looked at her, "Me too, Jane. But, then you tell me we can do this…and I believe you." She brushed damp black hair back from her wife's face. "We can. We can do this. You said after the Games that we deserved to have a life. We do. However long it may be, whatever may come, I have you and you have me and we're not going to let all of this have happened in vain."

* * *

The Victory Tour celebration in District 8 was never much because only three times in the previous 75 years had the victor been from District 8. Jane didn't remember much from Korsak's victory celebration. But, she remembered years and years of monotonous presentations, expected cheers and clapping, and how when it was all over everyone returned to work or home as if it was any other day. Then, she had won. And the Capitol put on an affair the likes she had never seen. The citizens of District 8 had seemed genuinely joyful; most of all she remembered how at least for that one day everyone had eaten their fill.

Maura practically ran off the train as they pulled into the station, impatient to see her parents waiting just as they had when they returned from the Games. Only a wall of cameras were there to greet them however. Jane slipped her arm around Maura's waist, smiled and waved before whispering, "They'll be at Mayor Pike's house for the dinner."

Mayor Pike. "Ugh," Jane groaned as the cars made their way through the streets, a smattering of people lined the route to wave but the main public celebration wouldn't be until the following day. "What do you wanna bet we'll look stunning, just stunning." Jane gave Maura's waist another squeeze and was relieved to finally see her crack a smile.

"Cinna always makes you look stunning. I like seeing you dressed up, even if you hate it." Maura's smile widened as Jane leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"You don't need Portia or Cinna to look stunning." Jane countered. To her, it was true. There was no sight more beautiful than waking up next to Maura, her hair tousled from sleep, no makeup, and goosebumps prickling her naked skin as Jane pulled the covers back.

The mayor's house appeared around the next corner, every bit as large as a Victor's mansion though it wasn't located in the Victor's Village. Thadeus Pike. He'd become mayor the year after Frankie died when old Mayor Conroy had a stroke and succumbed three days later. There wasn't a vote. There never was. One day it was Conroy, the next it was Pike. Jane wasn't really sure what the qualifications for being mayor were, though she was fairly certain an impeccable ability to kowtow to the Capitol was at the top of the list.

One of the guest rooms on the third floor of the house was already set up for their prep team when they arrived. The house looked even bigger than Jane remembered it given that Conroy had had a wife and three children to fill it and Pike had no family at all. Cinna, Octavia, Venia, and Flavius set to work on Jane first.

"Oh! These circles under your eyes!" Venia lamented. "If we were back in the Capitol I could just have them gone in seconds! I'll have to make do."

Jane held her tongue and let them do their work. It was almost over. Another twenty-four hours and the prep team, Effie, and all of the camera crews would be on the train and back to the Capitol. _Good riddance_, she thought about them all…all except for Cinna. She enjoyed his company, his silent understanding manner, and the way that when he did speak there was no mistaking the honesty behind the words. So many times on the Tour she had wanted to pull him aside and tell him of their plans, partially out of the silly hope that he would ask to join them, find some way to stay behind in District 8 and be part of the rebellion. But, the real reason was to warn him. If the rebellion took off it would eventually reach the Capitol, it would have to if they were going to win. Cinna should know…so that he could hide, stay safe. She never told him.

As the team moved to Maura, Jane took a look at herself in the mirror and ran her hands across the golden ball gown. Though dinner was still almost an hour off the guests of honor, including her mother would arrive soon. Jane slipped out of the room to see if she could steal a few quiet moments with her before the next Tour performance began. She wandered down to the second floor and paused, hearing the television blaring from Mayor Pike's study. Sticking to the carpet that formed a soft aisle down the center of the wooden floor so that her heels didn't announce her coming, she tiptoed to the doorway and peeked inside.

The study was empty; the television nestled into an entertainment center above a fireplace flanked by books. She was on the screen with Maura. Scenes from the party at the Capitol re-broadcasting to all of Panem. Maura was laughing as they danced, lifting on her toes to kiss Jane on the lips before the music slowed and she sank into Jane's embrace. It was an image Jane didn't mind seeing of herself, for all of her hatred of the Capitol and the farce of the Tour, when Maura smiled and kissed her, it was real. If nothing else was, that was real. She was about to leave when a grating beep erupted from the television before the screen went black. Then the words "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 11" began to flash across the screen.

This was not for her eyes. Citizens' televisions never received updates on other districts. Jane checked behind her to make sure no one was coming and stepped into the room, making her way to the television. The citizens only saw Caesar Flickerman, or occasionally some other brightly colored jester of an entertainer. The woman that appeared to give the broadcast had dark brown hair, pulled back into a severe bun that complimented her deep and authoritative voice.

"Conditions in District 11 reaching critical," she stated coldly. "A level 3 alert has been called. Additional forces requested and mobilizing. All agricultural harvesting has ceased."

The picture cut away and showed the assembly square in District 11, where they had just been not long ago on the Tour's second stop. Many of the decorations from the celebration remained, attached to light poles around the square, though most were ragged and torn. Banners hung from windows and lay strewn about the ground with pictures of Jane and Maura's faces and the word…everywhere the word:

_Mockingjay._

_Mockingjay._

_Mockingjay._

In the square there were people, screaming, many had their faces hidden behind scarves or small kerchiefs. They threw things: bricks, rocks, and small objects, bottles stuffed with rags and flammable liquid were let fly, erupting into fireballs when they crashed and burst. Buildings were burning. Peacekeepers were everywhere, yet they seemed no more than white dots in an ever-swelling sea of every color but white. They shot, indiscriminately firing into the crowd but their bullets did not stop the surge and suddenly the forces of the Capitol were overwhelmed, drowning in wave after wave of angry rebellion.

Jane covered her mouth, eyes wide. "It's already begun," she whispered to herself.


	8. A Stone and Sling

**Author's Note: **First, my apologies for not replying to the last set of comments; I plan to do that this week as I really enjoy talking with those of you that take the time to review! Second, more apologies for how long this took! Some of you know I moved across country again to start a new job and it has been an insane few weeks, but I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting! As always, reviews or messages are welcome and I look forward to seeing how you all receive this chapter!

**CH 8: A Stone and Sling**

They both wanted so much for the next day to be a return to some semblance of normalcy. But, any hope of that was virtually impossible. In truth, they had thrown away that chance the moment they decided to challenge Hoyt and the Capitol. Jane and Maura both knew that. A little bit more of that reality, however unlikely had faded with the first stop in District 12 when they were saluted. The fantasy had all but been dashed in District 11, bleeding into a distant fantasy with the spilled red blood that the Peacekeepers shed to soak into the dusty brown earth. But, hope, however faint, was a hard thing to vanquish.

Jane awoke to a strange sensation, something wet and slimy on her lips and nose. Her eyes fluttered open and her ears began to register sound…Maura giggling. As the veil of sleep parted and her eyes focused she saw the source of the unusual feeling, a scruffy face and panting tongue with two glistening brown marble eyes staring back at her.

"Maura!" Jane groaned, wiping furiously at her mouth and nose as she sputtered. "I thought we agreed. No dog in the bed!"

"I didn't agree," Maura countered, flashing a smile as she scooped up the little dog and deposited her on the floor. "She was lonely."

"Hmmm." It was more a soft growl than anything. Jane flopped onto her back, and stared up at the ceiling. "I was sleeping."

Maura scooted into her side. Her skin was warm like it always was in the mornings and it felt soft and comforting pressed against her own. Jane found it increasingly difficult to be irritated with Jo Friday having been allowed in the bed, but she tried to resist giving into Maura's affection for just a few moments, to see if she could eek out an apology. Maura snuggled in even closer, threading one leg through Jane's despite her feigned resistance, wrapping her arm around Jane's body and under it to encircle her in an embrace. She nuzzled along her wife's jaw line, placing soft kisses from just under her ear to the corner of her mouth. Jane clenched her teeth in response, trying desperately not to smile.

The façade of irritation became more difficult to maintain as Maura's lips dragged across her own, her hair, lit golden from the sun streaming in the windows, spilling down around Jane's face. Maura kissed her, pressing their lips together and expecting Jane to reciprocate and open up to her advance. But, she did not.

Brow furrowed, Maura pulled back, her eyes beginning to glisten and well with moisture, "You're really angry?" She sniffled once for good measure and twice to seal the deal. Two could play the game of guilt.

Jane's eyes widened and her lips parted as she sat up quickly, reaching out to cup her wife's face, "No, no, no, I was just messing with you. It was time to wake up anyway, and the dog…"

The hazel eyes in front of her dried almost immediately and a sly smile stretched across Maura's lips. "So, Josephine will be allowed in the bed occasionally?"

"Jo," Jane corrected and then sighed in defeat, "will be allowed in the bed…occasionally," she punctuated the last word. "And you're getting too good at that crying thing."

Maura brushed Jane's matted tangle of hair back from her face, smiling at the way her eyes always fluttered when she touched her cheek and how she tilted her head to settle into her palm. She leaned in and found her wife's lips receptive and kissed her, deeply, passionately, almost fearfully, as if each kiss could possibly be the last.

The desire to tumble back under the covers in a lazy heap and spend the rest of the day languidly wrapped around one another was enticing. They could pretend that nothing they had seen on the Tour had been real, that the scenes from District 11 on Mayor Pike's television the previous night were just a fabrication. But, they weren't. The rebellion they had hoped to spark had caught and swelled liked prime kindling.

Maura sighed as she rose to dress, but long arms stopped her and held her for one more moment, kisses peppering her neck, soft breaths caressing her skin. "One day, this will all be behind us," Jane whispered.

Maura nodded. One day seemed so far away.

* * *

The tension was palpable in the cave-like apartment that Patrick Doyle called home. He paced the small living room as Jane recounted everything that had happened on the Tour. Everything that had not been shown. It had all happened so quickly it was almost difficult to believe. The envoys must have reached their destinations. Yet, he had thought they would have more time to plan. With Martell and the Peacekeepers sympathetic to the cause they had begun to prime District 8 for rebellion, but they weren't ready. As Jane continued to tell the stories of their encounters in the districts, Doyle realized ready or not, the game had already taken on a life of its own. They either played and maybe they lived or maybe they died, or they did nothing, and everything would surely be lost.

Jane was overcome with tears as she looked at her mother and told her that Frank was still alive and living in District 9. Angela cried as well, covering her mouth as she tried to sob silently, slumping to the side to rest her head on Korsak's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her to comfort her. When her father left, Jane had been too close to the precipice of her own self-destruction to think at all clearly about her parents' relationship. All she could tease out was that her father had left and the only person, beside herself she could blame, was her mother. That blame had faded over the years as little by little she regained control of her own life. And when she considered how her mother was now and how her father seemed in the little time she had gotten to spend with him, for the first time in all those years she realized that maybe his leaving had been for the best. But, as Angela cried, Jane also understood that there was still love there, and that there probably always would be.

Maura sat on Doyle's sofa next to Constance, her hands covered tightly by her mother's as they listened. With each passing minute Constance's grip grew more desperate, her face stricken with worry.

"It's going to be ok, mother," Maura whispered, trying to soothe her. _It's going to be ok_. It was going to be anything but ok. Even with a good number of the Peacekeepers in the district on their side as soon as District 8 broke out in open rebellion the full force of the Capitol would be upon them. Maura knew that but she forced a smile anyway as Constance nodded.

Doyle stopped his pacing and let his eyes fall on each person in turn, "We have to strike now, while the iron is hot. More time would have been preferable, but if the other districts begin rebelling we have to join them, force the Capitol to spread their troops amongst as many locations as possible, spread them thin. It's the only way. Otherwise we all fall one at a time."

Korsak squeezed Angela's shoulder as he stood, "If we had access to the Mayor's reports we could stay better apprised of what's going on in the other districts, maybe even be able to get in contact with their mayors…"

"I don't trust Pike," Jane shook her head. "The Capitol put him in charge here. He's their man, no matter how friendly he seems."

"Pike wouldn't have access to the other districts anyway," Doyle added. "His lines of communication only give him what the Capitol allows: the ability to receive information from them, no calls out. It's part of the security protocols…to…well, to keep something like this from happening. To prevent rebellion."

"Sending more envoys isn't feasible," Maura mused aloud, "we'd never get responses or communications back and forth quickly enough. No eyes, no ears."

"Maybe District 13 will come," Jane stated. Everyone nodded solemnly. Without a doubt they were all thinking the same thing: _If people in District 13 even still existed._

* * *

Day and night seemed to have no meaning as preparations and organization reached a fever pitch. Maura and Lucius coordinated with the other apothecaries in the district to gather any supplies of medical use and ready the clinic in the Victor's Village as a triage location.

"It's not enough," she said aloud to herself as she scanned one of the prepped surgical rooms.

Lucius put his hand on her shoulder and nodded, "In war, there's no such thing as enough."

Angela and Constance assembled a team to stockpile food, collecting as many nonperishable items as possible from around the district and housing the supplies at various underground drop points. Sean Cavanaugh's illicit boxing ring was as good as a soup kitchen now. They surveyed what they had collected; it was more food than any of them had seen in one place in all their lives except for the Capitol sponsored victory celebration, but when they considered how many it might have to feed it seemed hardly adequate.

"More bread," Angela muttered. "Bread will keep. We need more bread."

Constance sighed, "Darla Flannery already gave us everything she could spare without it looking suspicious…"

"Here…" Cavanaugh pulled a lock box from behind his makeshift bar and retrieved a wad of cash. "Take as many people as you can and you buy the rest."

It made the most sense to organize fighting units out of the factories. Jane stood on the overseer's balcony of Philip Isles's factory and looked down at his workers furiously set to their tasks, only it wasn't fancy dresses they were assembling that day, but makeshift weapons.

"Will it be enough?" she asked.

"No," Doyle stated sternly and without hesitation, he knew there was no point in dressing it up any other way than what it was. "It won't. But, it's what we have, and it's better than nothing."

Philip Isles emerged from his office next to them, "The other foremen report they're almost through. Come nightfall Prohibition Pete and his team will begin delivering the explosives."

Jane couldn't help but laugh, at face value it was all too ridiculous: seamstresses and shopkeepers, teachers and plumbers serving as the vanguard of a revolution; factory workers building weapons out of industrial sewing equipment, and a bootlegger turned bombmaker. "I look down at these people," she mused, "and I can't help but think we've made a terrible mistake…and it's going to cost us all our lives."

Doyle spun Jane around to face him and grasped her face with firm, rough hands, "History is full of battles with worse odds. Were you the biggest, were you the strongest in the Games? In Cavanaugh's ring?"

Jane shook her head no.

"And did you lose?"

"No," Jane answered.

Doyle jabbed her hard in the chest, "It's about heart. And conviction. And determination. You lead these people and they will follow you, and they will fight to the last and we will win."

* * *

Night had settled on District 8 for hours but Maura would not try to sleep until Jane returned. She sat on their sofa and pulled the book Angela had given her from the table into her lap. There had been so little time to read since that day she'd first peeled back the old worn cover amongst the factory ruins on the outskirts of the old industrial section. She flipped to the section Angela had suggested earlier and tried to let the words clear her mind of the fears that had taken root within her.

_The Philistines stood on the mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on the mountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them. There went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. He had a helmet of brass on his head, and he was clad with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. He had brass shin armor on his legs, and a javelin of brass between his shoulders. The staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron…_

The measurements meant nothing to her, but here surely was where the word goliath originated and it could only describe a giant. Her finger continued to skirt along the page as she read of David, and soon the story conjured a picture of Jane as a youth in her mind, and the day that she was reaped the first time, how stoicly she went forth to face her own goliath.

_Saul said to David, "You are not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him; for you are but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth."_

So enthralled with the story was she that Maura didn't even notice Jane enter their apartment as she read on, her lips moving, a barely audible whisper reading aloud the story as it came to life in front of her.

_Saul said to David, "Go; and Yahweh shall be with you." Saul dressed David with his clothing. He put a helmet of brass on his head, and he clad him with a coat of mail. David strapped his sword on his clothing, and he tried to move; for he had not tested it. David said to Saul, "I can't go with these; for I have not tested them." David took them off._

_He took his staff in his hand, and chose for himself five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in the shepherd's bag, which he had, even in his wallet. His sling was in his hand; and he drew near to the Philistine._

Jane settled in behind her, arms snaking around her midsection as her cheek rested on her wife's shoulder.

Maura closed the book and leaned back into the touch, "And David slew the giant Goliath with nothing but a stone and a sling…"

* * *

Neither woman had slept well throughout the days of preparation. But, that night, nightmares returned with a vengeance. So deep in sleep and entrenched in the haunting dream, Maura lost all connection with reality. Sometimes when the terrors plagued her, her subconscious found a way to send her clues that it was not reality. Not that night.

Hoyt. His smell filled her nose and mouth and choked her. His hands on her skin were like fire, burning, his fingers like a possessed animal, tearing, stripping her flesh from bone. He was around her, on her, in her, and she couldn't escape. _Kill me. Kill me. Kill me._ She shouted at him. _JUST KILL ME!_

_Where's the fun in that?_

"MAURA!" Jane shouted, shaking her violently, casting away the shroud of sleep and prying off the fingered hooks of the terror that gripped her wife so solidly.

"KILL ME!" Maura screamed at the top of her lungs as she awoke and bolted upright. Her hair was drenched with sweat, droplets hanging from limp ends and falling to her wet chest, forming tiny tributaries that streaked her trembling skin and ran down between her breasts. She gasped for breath, the feeling of his hands on her throat still stark; her heart beating with furious intensity and pumping her full of adrenaline to the point that she couldn't process that she was awake or that the hands stroking her face were Jane's. "Kill…mmmm." And everything went blank.

Her eyes fluttered and her skin registered the feeling of cool all around, the sensation dabbed at her brow and trickled down her face, clinging to her eyelashes and obscuring her vision as she opened her eyes.

Maura flexed her fingers. _Water._ She moved her legs and heard the liquid ripple, waves lapping the length of her body and over her chest.

"Easy," Jane whispered soothingly, dipping the washcloth down into the bathwater again and squeezing it across Maura's brow and head. Her arm was hooked under Maura's neck, cradling her head above the water.

"Hoyt. He…he…" She began to tremble.

"Shhh," Jane helped her sit up and held her close as she began to wring out her soaking hair. "It was a nightmare, just a nightmare."

Maura closed her eyes and sank into Jane's arms as she was lifted from the bath, "It felt real," she whispered.

* * *

_ETA ten minutes. Not enough time. Not enough time._ John Martell sprinted through the streets. The call had come in from the Capitol…he looked at his watch…four minutes and twenty-four seconds ago.

_District 8, be advised, reports of rebel activity. Suppression force en route. ETA ten minutes._

His own words rang through his head, pumping hard and loud with his heart as he sprinted with every ounce of strength he had towards the Victor's Village. _EXECUTE!_ And white had turned on white, the Peacekeepers in on the rebellion drawing their weapons and firing at their unsuspecting colleagues. But some escaped and fighting and shots rang out in the streets, though the sound grew more distant the farther he ran.

As he bolted through the gates of the Victor's Village he glanced at his watch again, the call had come in six minutes and thirty-eight seconds ago. _ETA ten minutes._

"OUT! EVERYBODY OUT NOW!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, barreling into the door of the clinic, nearly busting the wooden door from its frame. Angela and Constance screamed as he tumbled into the house. "CAPITOL FORCES EN ROUTE! EVERYONE OUT NOW!"

"Grab what you can!" Maura ordered, gathering up armfuls of supplies.

Jane snatched her arm and spun her, sending bandages, pills, and surgical paraphernalia spilling to the floor. "They've got the jump on us, Maura! There's no time!"

"Jane!" She began to protest.

Jane pulled her close and squeezed her arms tightly, "There's no time!"

Martell ushered them out, Jane and Maura, followed by Korsak steadying a shocked Angela, Philip hand in hand with Constance, and Lucius bringing up the rear. And overhead they heard the whirring engines of Capitol hovercraft and the sound of explosions growing louder and louder.

"Let's go!" Martell commanded, "We've got to get to Cavanaugh's, get organized. They'll air assault first and then put troops on the ground."

They started to run but Korsak stopped, "Martell! Cayden Crawford!" The eldest victor never left his house in his declining decrepit state. Korsak started towards his house but Martell stopped him.

"I'll get him," Martell said, "You go."

_ETA ten minutes._ But, the Capitol was already there. Martell sprinted towards Cayden's house and kicked the door in.

Korsak followed the rest of the group out of the village, stumbling to his knees as a Capitol hovercraft streaked over their heads and laid waste to their homes, balls of fire and black smoke mushrooming skyward and blocking the sun. "My God," he mumbled as he regained his feet and ran.

* * *

Through side streets and alleyways they dodged and ran, finally arriving at Cavanaugh's where they rendezvoused with a unit of Peacekeepers Martell had assigned as their detail.

"Where's Martell?" Lou Kifkin asked.

"Dead," Doyle replied starkly. "Hovercraft bomb."

The Peacekeepers muttered obscenities before regaining their composure. "What are your orders, sir?" Kifkin looked at his former commander and waited.

"First, what's going on out there?"

"We took out most of the Capitol-loyal Peacekeeper force, a few escaped. As we made our way here we could see the hovercraft forming up around the train station. Best guess: ground troops are amassing if they haven't already been sent out into the district."

Doyle nodded, "I need you to round up our friendlies and find a way to hold the ground forces at bay while we get the factory units organized and prepared to join the fight. Everyone's been caught off guard, people are scattered. We need time."

Kifkin stalled, "Sir, Martell ordered us to stay with the Victors. To protect them at all costs."

"And Martell is dead and our plan is in grave danger of crumbling to fucking pieces!" Doyle said harshly. "I will get Jane and Maura to the bunker until we get our forces together, I need you and our Peacekeepers to hold off the Capitol."

"Understood, sir," Kifkin nodded as he waved for the others to follow him.

"Wait!" Maura shouted, rummaging behind Cavanaugh's bar and returning with a can of black spray paint. She sprayed an 8 on the front and back of each Peacekeeper's uniform. "So the district will now that you're with us."

Kifkin tossed Doyle his rifle as they all headed out, the Peacekeepers towards the city center, the rest towards the bunker in the projects.

Jane took Maura's hand as they ran, glancing sideways and noting how her wife's face was streaked with tears though she tried to wipe them away. "It's going to be ok," Jane tried to reassure her.

Maura shook her head, "It's silly, why I'm crying…we left Jo Friday behind."

"Oh…" She had completely forgotten about the little dog, and strangely, a pang of guilt shot through her side. Unexpected. Sharp. They were almost across the street and into the last alley before the bunker when Jane stopped and realized it wasn't guilt streaking like hot fire through her flesh and ribs. She clasped her hand over the source of the excruciating pain and pulled it away. Blood seeped through her shirt and into her cupped palm.

"Father!"

Maura's scream seemed like a distant echo as she watched her dart back into the street towards Philip Isles's bullet-riddled body. "No," Jane tried to scream after her, but it only came out as a whisper, nor could she force her feet to follow as they crumpled underneath her. "No!" She tried again as arms wrapped around her and dragged her backwards into the alley.

More gunfire, and Capitol troops advancing down the street. Smoke. Screams. Her own screams filling her head as she shouted for Maura. And the last thing Jane saw before it all went black was the hovercraft overhead, a beam of light spiraling down from it to lasso the figure in the middle of the street, and Maura floating towards the sky.

* * *

Biblical verse from 1 Samuel 17


	9. Dream a Dream

**CH 9: Dream a Dream**

There was only pain. Everywhere. As she tried to wake it flooded over her, an unstoppable tidal wave, washing over every nerve, every part of her inside and out. The worst was in her chest. A torture that left a virtually impossible to process combination of complete numbness and pain so excruciating it felt as if fingers were slowly pushing through flesh and bone to rip her heart from her body.

_Maura._

She prayed for the invisible hand to reach its destination. To close around the barely beating organ and tighten, fingers curling in a penultimate embrace before one final constriction would cause the organ to burst. No more life…no more pain.

Jane gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the hot tears trickle down her face to disappear into sweaty hair and damp sheets. She tried to sit up, and the physical pain ripped through her, ricocheting through her abdomen like a flaming projectile; it seized her body with shocking force and made her want to vomit. She gagged for a moment on a bit of acid that worked its way to the back of her throat but then it settled. Even as she relaxed, giving up on trying to move, the burning still coursed through her and made her tremble uncontrollably. The pain wasn't just from loss. Her hand wandered to her abdomen and the slightest touch sent seizures of actual pain through her body. She wasn't dying from a broken heart…she was literally dying…and she was alone.

She screamed. Calling out Maura's name over and over though she knew there would be no answer. She had seen them take her. The light from the hovercraft guiding the metallic claw from its belly; the way it wrapped around her, steel teeth closing on its prey. And then she was gone.

She kept screaming, the name spilling out repeatedly as if the word itself could slice through air and land and deliver her love back into her arms. But, it couldn't. Voices did answer though, hands closing around her own, stroking her face, and raking through her hair.

"What else can you do?" A woman's voice. Familiar.

Jane fought to open her eyes, to step back just for a moment from the precipice of pain and despair. The room was dim, barely lit, and smelled musty, a smoky haze hanging in the air. _The bunker_. It was her mother's hands combing through her hair and caressing her cheeks, dabbing at her brow with a cool cloth. As her vision focused she could make out Constance sitting at her bedside as well, holding both of her hands, her thumb gliding softly back and forth across the scars on her palms…the same way Maura used to comfort her when memories of Hoyt made the old wounds ache as if fresh. Moisture welled in her eyes again, "Maura…" she croaked on a weak and airy breath. Tears rained down Constance's face in turn at the mention of her daughter's name.

"My baby," Angela whispered, leaning down to press her lips to her daughter's feverish forehead. She winced at the hot skin against her kiss. "We'll get her back. I promise." But, Angela couldn't make her eyes sell the false promise. Jane cried, the sobs wracking her body and angering the wound her fingers had danced around moments earlier. "Please," Angela choked on her own emotion as she looked away from Jane, "is there anything for the pain?"

Constance stood and moved aside as Lucius took her seat. He lifted her shirt and Jane could make out the wad of blood and pus stained bandages that stretched from her side across her stomach. She winced as he peeled the bandages back; the sickening sound of partially congealed blood and infection pulling away with the gauze made her sick to her stomach all over again, the putrid odor that was loosed with it compounding the effect. Jane shook her head and tried to look away, her hands clawing at the air for something to hold onto until her mother pulled them tightly against her chest.

"I've done what I can with what I have," Lucius answered. He cleaned the wound and flushed the drains but the bullet had carved a jagged path through Jane's body. If the clinic hadn't been bombed he knew he could have done better; but it had, and destroyed in the rubble were all of the surgical supplies they had so painstakingly collected. All he was left with was some of Old Pete's white liquor as a disinfectant, some tubing from one of the factories, and a few cobbled together first aid supplies. There were people hurt like Jane all over the district…and worse. In the four days since the rebellion had begun he had watched more patients die than he had seen in his entire career up to that point. Yet, District 8 kept fighting.

"How is she?" Patrick Doyle stood in the entrance to the room of the bunker. Sweat dripped from his soot-covered face and picked up remnants of ash and blood on its journey to dot his shirt.

The silence told Jane all she needed to know; they all thought she was going to die. _Good_, she thought, _the sooner_,_ the better_.

The rusted metal springs of the old cot she was laid out on creaked loudly as Lucius and her mother rose, and whined with strain again as Doyle took their place.

"Open your eyes, look at me." His voice was stern and commanding and despite his rescue of her and Maura from Hoyt after the Games and all the months since, sometimes when he spoke a flinch of unease still shot through her as it always had when she was just Jane Rizzoli and he was still Head Peacekeeper.

Pain and exhaustion were wearing her down, dragging her back towards unconsciousness but she followed his order and struggled to open her eyes, fighting for a deeper breath that her injury wouldn't cede. "I'm going to die," she whispered, on the little bit of air she had managed to suck in.

"The hell you are," he replied, reaching for her hand. His grasp was coarse and tight, his skin gritty with dirt and dried blood. Yet, it was the most comforting touch she could recall in four days because Patrick Doyle didn't just want her to live, he was willing her to, and there was a strength and a surety in his touch that made the idea of living seem possible for a fleeting second. "You're going to survive. Just like you always do. We're going to win. Do you hear me? You will live."

She watched as he spun the wedding ring on her finger. _Maura_. Her lip quivered as her eyes rose to meet his, "I don't want to," she answered. "I don't want to live without her."

Jane tried to let her head fall to the side and away from his gaze but he took her by the chin and held her steady leaning down until their noses almost touched. "We will get her back, do you understand me? I will burn this whole fucking country to the ground to get her back and when it's over, we'll all watch you put a dagger in that bastard's heart for everything he's done. You will live, Jane Rizzoli. You will live."

Her mouth opened but she couldn't argue with him, instead, resigned, Jane nodded. It seemed like her life had never really been her own. It was no different now that the rebellion had started. "Doyle," she murmured, squeezing his hand as he started to stand, "will you do something for me?"

* * *

She was too terrified to sleep, so she fought it with every ounce of will she could muster. Sleep brought only nightmares. Explosions and gunfire that shook the ground and brought buildings tumbling down around her. Fire. Giant black mushroom clouds of smoke that filled the sky and blocked the sun. Screams. Her father, dead in the street, facedown in a pool of blood. And Jane…the last thing she remembered…Jane falling and a crimson stain seeping through her shirt. Maura tried not to think about it, that Jane might be dead. But, in the nightmares, though she never saw her die, she always knew that she did.

Maura paced the far end of the barren, white room. Back and forth, keeping one eye on the locked door, as she walked she pushed her thumb into the sore and bruised track marks on her arm from the sedatives her captors had forced into her veins on the hovercraft and again when she had awoken in the room. The pain sent a little rush through her body, enough to keep her awake for a few more minutes at least. No one had entered since she had first regained consciousness, finding herself clad in only a thin hospital gown and alone on a cold tile floor in the middle of the starkly stripped room. She had screamed, raged, pounded on the walls and against the door until her knuckles bled and orderlies had finally come in and jabbed the needles into her arm again.

_Yesterday?_ She paused, keeping her eye on the door. _This morning? Or was it longer?_ There were no windows in the room, no day or night. A steady illumination emanated from the ceiling at all times. Maura trudged to the corner and let her body slide down the wall until she landed crumpled on the floor, doubled over, arms wrapped around her legs as she rested her chin on one knee. They had her. The Capitol. Hoyt. They probably had Jane too, it occurred to her. She put her hand flat to the wall and closed her eyes to listen…to feel. _She could be just on the other side of this wall_.

"I thought we had an agreement?"

Fingers twined through her hair, tracing the shell of her ear and down her neck before dragging upwards to stroke under her chin.

"Jane…" Maura hummed, barely above a whisper as the touches continued to caress through her hair, along her face, down her neck, and over her shoulders. She opened her eyes and gasped silently as her lungs seized in terror, body pressing back with all its might into the wall supporting her.

"I thought we had an agreement?" President Charles Hoyt repeated as his hands caught her by both wrists as she reached for his throat. He slammed her arms backwards into the wall and hovered in front of her, his sour breath and caustic cologne filling her nose and making her gag.

"I'm not afraid of you." The tremble in her voice revealed the words as lies, her skin flushed, tendrils of panic like fire creeping up from her chest and winding around her neck.

"Oh," he clucked his tongue as he shook his head, "but you should be."

_Wake up_. Maura muttered to herself as she closed her eyes. "This is just another nightmare."

Hoyt's grip tightened with bruising force as he cackled and held both of her wrists in one of his hands above her head. "The worst kind." Her eyes flashed open to meet his twisted gaze. She shivered violently, a sharp pain streaking through her as he dragged a scalpel across her neck. He leaned forward, let his tongue flick through the trickle of blood carving its way down her skin, and then lifting his head, his cheek brushing against her own until his lips touched her ear, "The kind that happens when you're awake."

* * *

"There's nothing left. Nothing will be salvageable," Lou Kifkin stated for the umpteenth time as he and Patrick Doyle picked their way through the bombed out streets and alleyways. District 8 was a war zone, choked with smoke and ash from bombs and burnt buildings. Yet, their rebel units had managed to secure the projects and other points and hold the Capitol forces at bay for four days. He had his doubts on how much longer they could hold out however. The Victor's Village was an entirely different issue from the few valuable points they managed to man. "They bombed it all to hell, Patrick."

"So you keep saying." Doyle slinked along a wall until he came to the corner of a row of shops and could peer around to the main street. As the last light of the day dwindled he could see a few sparse Capitol troops standing watch, they controlled that part of the district. "We'll wait until nightfall to try and slip past them."

"Our forces are barely holding on. We lose more people every day and here we are, out on some wild fucking goose chase? For what?" Kifkin continued to argue, but followed as Doyle led them back down the alley to hunker down behind a dumpster.

"Because Jane asked me to." He turned to look at the Peacekeeper-turned-rebel fighter. "Because she needs something to hold on to. Something to give her hope. Something she can touch and remind her why it's worth it to live." Doyle reached for the chain he still wore around his neck though the ring was absent. "When I lost Maura's mother, just having a physical reminder of her kept me going, something I could touch. It wasn't her and I knew having it wouldn't bring her back, but it was like I had a piece of her with me. I know it doesn't sound like it makes sense…not if you've never needed something to be that last remaining barrier between getting by and going insane. But, it matters."

Kifkin nodded and let his head slump back against the brick wall. "Nightfall then."

* * *

Much of the iron fencing around the village was violently twisted in tattered configurations, yet the main columns at the entrance stood, the heavy gates hanging drunkenly from busted joints. Doyle and Kifkin entered through the gate out of habit, despite the fact that the fence no longer stood. The houses were razed to the ground, nothing more than heaps of metal and stone that had smoldered for days, though the last vestiges of the initial conflagration had faded on the winds.

Doyle looked towards the lot where Cayden Crawford's home had stood. It was a grave now, for both the elder victor and for John Martell. Under his breath he made a promise to his friend that when it was all over he'd have a proper burial, a resting place fit for a hero of the rebellion.

If not for counting the heaps to know which lot was which there would have been no distinguishing what had been Angela's house from any of the other piles of destruction. The two men approached, flashlights drawn to illuminate the debris. The night was quiet. The Capitol Forces' perimeter was manned; but within, their troops were prioritized to patrol more vital areas: areas they feared would be attacked for supplies or weapons. Doyle listened one more time to be sure but was quickly satisfied none of the troops were near.

He turned on his flashlight and began to scan through the rubble. "Josephine," he called out softly. "Here girl. Jo Friday? Here girl."

Silence.

"Did you hear that?" Kifkin shined his light towards the back of the lot.

"Hear what?" Doyle looked in the direction Kifkin pointed.

"You're getting deaf in your old age, Paddy," Kifkin chuckled. "I heard something. I'm sure of it. Probably just a rat or some shifting debris." He began to pick his way through the chunks of rock, brick, and concrete that were strewn across what would have been a walkway between two victors' houses. What had once been well-manicured grass was charred and crunched under his feet as he tiptoed through Angela's backyard.

Doyle followed, scanning the debris with his flashlight working the light in a back and forth pattern further and further away towards where the fence had once stood. "There!" He paused as the light glinted off something near a still partially intact fence column. "Josephine? Jo Friday?" He whistled and then made a smooching sound.

Kifkin began to laugh and shake his head at the sound. "I'll be damned!" He gasped.

From a hole in the half-blasted column two eyes appeared and twinkled in the light. Slowly, a tiny head emerged to regard them. The little dog crept timidly from her hideout, head hung low, limping slightly as she always did on the leg that had been broken the day Maura found her.

Doyle switched off his light and let Kifkin light her path as he dropped to his knees. "That's a good girl. That's a good girl, Jo." Her tail wagged at the sound of her name and then beat furiously back and forth as Doyle scooped her up into his arms."

"Shit!" Kifkin flicked off his light, dropping to the ground as a formation of hovercraft streaked overhead.

Booms rang out through the silence, followed by gunfire as the night sky in the distance was illuminated by explosions.

"Let's go," Doyle sprang to his feet and began to run, Kifkin right beside him.

"They haven't attacked at night befo…" Kifkin couldn't finish the sentence as the hovercraft explosion overhead slammed both men to the ground. The shockwave stunned him as he writhed, disoriented, trying to regain some concept of up or down, which way they had come and which way they were trying to go. As he rolled over and sat up, the twisted wreckage of a hovercraft engulfed in flames was half-buried in the wall of a building across the street. It had damn near fallen right on top of them. He reached up to try and rub the ringing out of his ears to no avail and looked at Doyle, completely aware that in his state of temporary deafness he was probably shouting, "Our people have a rocket launcher you didn't tell me about?" The shocked look on Doyle's face gave the answer.

Regaining their footing they ran again. Forsaking the careful route they had carved to the Victor's Village via backstreets and alleys, instead they proceeded brazenly and openly through the main roads, taking the quickest way possible back to the bunker. Shouting and gunfire had obliterated the peaceful silence that filled the district only minutes earlier. It bombarded them from all directions and Kifkin couldn't be sure if the sounds of engagement were truly all around or if his senses were scrambled from the explosion. Soon, they were at what had been the manned perimeter they had passed earlier in the evening, only the Capitol squadron was gone. They paused momentarily, surveying the path in front of them before streaking ahead, making their way towards the barricades, over, and continuing through the streets towards their destination.

Patrick Doyle didn't need to turn around to know that the sound that froze him midstep only a few blocks from the bunker was the cocking of a dozen rifles. Kifkin halted alongside him, his fingers flexing tensely as he calculated the likelihood he could get to his own weapon before taking a bullet in the back of the head.

"Are you citizens of District 8?" A man's voice called out from behind them.

Doyle clenched his teeth and held Jo Friday tighter in his arms, his hand stroking nervously across the singed fur on her sides and back. The options ran through his mind: bolt, maybe the voice was a bad shot in the dark, go for his gun and die fighting, assuming he could even make a respectable fight out of it. "We are."

"Weapons down," the voice called out.

Doyle and Kifkin glanced sideways at each other. They weren't holding any weapons; their guns were strapped to their backs.

"Can you take us to the Mockingjay?"

Doyle turned. It wasn't a unit of Capitol forces clad in white that greeted him, but ten men in dark grey jumpsuits, their weapons now pointed towards the ground. An eleventh man, the voice, walked towards them, "Can you take us to the Mockingjay?"

His demeanor was as brusque as his voice. Doyle appraised the man standing before him, his close-cut hair, mid-forties, unremarkable in looks and stature. "That depends," Doyle answered, "On who the hell you are."

The man let a slight smile grace his lips as he stepped in front of Doyle. "My name is Boggs. I'm from District 13, and we're here to save your rebellion."


	10. Power and Control

**Author's Note:** Putting a trigger warning in here, similar to that in Tribute regarding Hoyt, this chapter and some future chapters may contain scenarios that reference sexual assault and may be difficult for some readers.

**CH 10: Power and Control**

Nothing was worse than losing control. That feeling of half-awareness and just enough sensory recognition to realize that something was being done to your body but there was nothing you could do about it. Jane screamed inside her head but no sound filled her ears externally. Her body felt heavy, like dead weight, sinking as if pressed down into gooey muck by some invisible force from above. Every time she managed to get even the smallest response from her eyelids to flutter, to possibly open…pinch. She could feel the needle slide into her skin, heavy gauge, long, piercing through the bruised remnants and clotted blood of a previous injection. Heavy. Still. Recognition and awareness began to fade. Darkness overcame her.

The next time she came to she had a plan. No movement at all. She laid there, listening…muffled voices ebbed in and out of the room around her though she was still too groggy to make much sense of the words. She willed the minutes to pass, to turn into hours, and little by little awareness improved. When the room was silent for an extended amount of time she attempted to move.

Muscles in her back tensed one by one; she pressed her shoulders back and felt the point of her scapula assess the surface she was lying on…soft, padded, like a bed…but not the kind you sleep in. Jane froze. _Hospital bed_. Now, with a greater sense of urgency she willed her eyes open and was blinded by the white light that filled the room, though the glow was soft, her eyes weren't adjusted and her sight went blank at the overstimulation. Tubes twined around her left arm, she could feel them, like cold plastic snakes coiled from the crook of her elbow down to her wrist. Her limbs still felt heavy, whatever sedative they had given her still wresting control from her own will. A little movement in her right arm, jerky, uncoordinated, she focused her attention on her fingers.

_One…two…three…four…five_…she counted, moving each finger in turn, then clenching her hand into a fist and lifting it slowly from her side. Her arm was only weight, the only way she even knew it was there, the heavy pressure that extended up into her shoulder as she moved it, other than that there was no feeling. It felt dead and useless, still numbed from the anesthetic or whatever they had given her, it felt more like some kind of prosthetic attachment than a natural part of her, but she managed to swing it across her body and suddenly there was a sensation…the tubes underneath her fingertips, the clammy soft feel of the skin of her other arm under the tubes. _One…two…three_…Jane counted again as she forced her fingers to close around the tubes and pull.

That she felt. The burning pain of the needles pulling out of her flesh, the warm trickle of blood on otherwise cool skin. Her vision began to focus and she could make out a hospital room, grey and empty, a beeping sound from a monitor somewhere grew louder and louder: alerting them that she was awake, summoning them.

"No…" Jane mumbled as she fought the drugs in her system and tried to roll off the bed. The room spun in a blurry haze as she fell, the cold floor hard and jarring as she hit it with a dull thud. The impact reverberated in her jaw as her teeth clacked together on impact, excruciating pain shooting out like tentacles from her side, wrapping around her consciousness and dragging her back under the murky waters. "No…" she whispered again as hard-soled shoes slapped across the floor towards her. "Not...here…" she could feel the tears on her cheeks now as multiple pairs of hands began to take hold of her arms and legs, a needle sliding once again into her vein, her eyes obeying the drugs and not her brain as they slipped closed. _Not the Capitol_.

* * *

As soon as he began with the questions, Maura knew that Jane had not been taken.

"You don't have her…" she had said, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face. It hadn't lasted long, Hoyt's elbow connected with her temple before she even had time to enjoy the look of fury on his face.

Her eyes watered with pain, nausea settling in her stomach and compounding the disorientation. The ringing in her ears started out as just one whistle but suddenly it was joined by others, turning into a symphony of high-pitched whirring that made her tremble. The only comfort was the soothing chill of the floor she had collapsed to. Maura turned her head to try and let the cooling caress of the tiles against her cheek calm the building headache; she brought her hands up to try and block the ringing in her ears.

Skeleton-like fingers closed around her wrists, bony digits with yellowed nails and skin that felt more dead than alive. Hoyt straddled her, pushing her wrists back until they were crushed between his unrelenting grip and the unforgiving tile floor. He leaned forward, the usual icy vacancy in his eyes from the public functions after the Games had melted into sadistic intrigue and she didn't need to guess or theorize as to his twisted psychology, his pleasure in doling out pain physically evident in the erection she could feel pressing against her through his pants.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he hissed, lowering his face as if to kiss her. Maura turned her head so that his words and lips brushed across her cheek instead. "I don't have to lay another finger on you." He ran his tongue across her face, all the way to her jawline, punctuating the overture with a clumsy and sloppy kiss under her earlobe as he released one wrist and let his hand wander down to fondle her breast through the thin hospital gown.

Maura closed her eyes and forced herself to remain still. From the moment she had first awoken to find him staring back at her, she had known what his game would be.

He moved his hand back to her wrist though she had made no attempt to strike out at him when she was partially unrestrained. "All you have to do is tell me where she's hiding."

Inhale. Maura slowly turned to face him and exhaled as she smiled once again. "Now, who's afraid of whom?"

He struck her again.

* * *

The cycle was torture. Wake. Sleep. Wake again. She was restrained now, plush, padded cuffs around her wrists kept her anchored to the bed rails. They seemed almost too gentle for the Capitol…for Hoyt. She never seemed to wake when anyone was in the room, so that the only sounds that greeted her were her own shallow breaths, the monotonous blips of some monitor behind her and off to the side that she couldn't see, and now the jingle of the cuffs' straps against the metal rails that kept her confined to the bed.

Something touched her, shifted against her leg down towards the foot of the bed.

"Who's there?" Jane called out. The sound of her own voice made her wince, slurred and gravelly, it reminded her of the morning after a drunken bender at Cavanaugh's when her face would be pummeled and bruised and the stench of Pete's white liquor was still oozing out of her pores.

The movement traveled along the length of her leg. Jane pulled her eyes from the ceiling and forced them lower to look down her narcotic paralyzed body. She unclenched her fists and stretched her fingers out to meet the black button nose and warm tongue that lapped happily at her hand.

"Jo," Jane muttered. "Josephine." She wiggled her fingers, touching as much of the little terrier's wiry fur as she could as the dog padded forward to curl into her side. Jo was dead, they'd left her behind in the Victor's Village when the bombings began, and there was nothing left of the Victor's Village. "It's just a dream," she whispered, closing her eyes to continue the cycle.

The next time she woke the difference was so stark she almost couldn't believe it. She felt present in her own body for the first time in…Jane paused…she wasn't sure how long it had been since District 8 fell under siege. But, her brain told her to move and to her surprise, completely unencumbered by drugs, tubes, or restraints her body responded. She sat up, looked at her hands, and noted the slight redness on her wrists, the bandage around her arm from all the tubes. Jo looked up at her from a nest of covers at her feet.

With a sudden flicker of remembering, her hands flew to her side, recalling the last time she had tried to sit up in the bunker, the terrible, stomach-curdling pain, the smell of infection, and the putrefied bandages that Lucius had pulled back from the gunshot wound. Jane pulled at the flimsy white gown, wadding it up in her hands as she lifted it to reveal just skin. Scarred, discolored, pink, thin skin…but, skin. No oozing open mess that smelled of death. She ran her finger over where the wound had been; it was tender, but basically healed.

And Jo really was there. Jane wasn't sure how, but it seemed too real to be a dream after all. Scooping the little dog up into her arms she walked slowly towards the door, hesitant that at any moment whoever was monitoring her would rush through, force her back to the bed, and now that she was healed, hold her there for…him. _Hoyt_. The name echoed through her mind and brought a seething rage and dizziness simultaneously. She moved more quickly towards the door and finding it unlocked stumbled into the hallway on the other side, not caring that the Capitol never made mistakes like leaving a door unlocked, that it was probably done intentionally to herd her towards something…someone.

_Maura_. If she was in the Capitol then that meant Maura was near.

She still felt shaky on her feet and the long hallway that stretched in front of her seemed to move, swaying from side to side. Only when she stumbled and found her left side propped against the wall did her vision seem to settle. Focusing on keeping her feet moving Jane counted her steps under breath, "One, two. One, two…" The sleeve of her gown made a soft scraping sound against the slightly textured wall as she kept her shoulder in contact with it as she walked.

There was a door at the end of the hallway, a metal door, cracked open, and as she approached it voices floated out, mingled in the air just in front of her, drawing her closer.

"Communications are down in Seven, Nine, Ten, and Twelve. But, Eleven has almost completely contained the enemy forces and gained control of transportation, so we might be able to start getting food supplies out."

Jane didn't recognize the voice that spoke, nor the others that started speaking over each other with increasing loudness. Something about rescue missions back to the districts…troop reinforcements. She leaned closer to the opening to try and glean more details, if she could discover their plans…escape, maybe there was a chance she could get a message out to District 8.

"No. We've got to leave the rebel forces in place where they're winning, to maintain control of essential supplies and keep the Capitol's attention divided. If we pull them out, it brings the full strength of Hoyt's forces to bear on us here."

_Korsak_. Jane pushed off from the wall and barreled into the door, flinging it aside and spilling into the room. Korsak stood immediately from the table he was seated at and rushed towards her, his arm looping around her waist and steadying her. She scanned the faces that stared back at her from the table; she knew them…some of them. Well, not knew per se, knew who they were. Victors. Beetee from District 3, his telltale facial twitches that she'd seen broadcast every year during interviews at the Games. Finnick Odair from District 4, only he wasn't the bronze-haired strapping heartthrob he always seemed on the television. Some of his hair showed evidence of having been burned off and on his face and neck were the same pink scars, healed wounds, just like on her side. Riley Cooper from District 6, she always wore long sleeves as a mentor at the Games, but now Jane could see the patchwork of tattoos that crawled up her brown skin to form a sleeve of artwork on her bare left arm. And finally, Patrick Doyle.

The daylight outside streamed in through the small windows in the room and in the distance Jane could see trees. Her eyes wandered from the scenery back to the people at the table, Victors all of them, except for Doyle and two others, a flamboyantly dressed Capitol man and a man in a grey military uniform.

"Where am I?" Jane asked, looking from Korsak to Doyle, the only two in the room she knew she could trust.

"District 13," Korsak answered, slowly easing her towards the table, "Sit down, and we'll explain everything that's happened while you've been sick."

* * *

"Jane…" Maura whispered the name over and over in her sleep. "Jane…"

Something jabbed her in the ribs. "Wake up." Jabbed again. "I said wake up."

Maura groaned, stirred slightly, but didn't wake. The voice wasn't familiar. And if it wasn't Jane's voice, it wasn't worth clawing her way back from unconsciousness for.

Johanna Mason, Victor from District 7, stared down at Maura, inventoried her ashen skin and the blossoming red and purple bruises covering much of the left side of her face. "Wake up!" She shouted to no avail. She pressed her thumb into the bruise that covered Maura's cheekbone and bore down.

The pain was like ice water, washing the dull comfort of unconsciousness away in one quick flash. Maura shot up, wildly swinging her arms, until the remnants of her concussion sent her lilting from side to side until she toppled forward to her hands and knees and began to vomit.

"He really worked a number on your face," Johanna took a few steps back and sat down on the floor, a chunk of her dark brown-nearly black hair fell in front of her face and she reached up and began obsessively pulling at the individual strands of hair, discarding them one by one to the white tile floor.

Maura crawled away from the bile she had just wretched and sat and faced her, "Why are you here?"

She plucked a hair, rolled it between her fingers and then flicked it aside, "I'm his captive too, just like you."

"But," Maura looked around the room, towards the door, "why are you in here with me now?"

Johanna smiled, but it was anything but friendly, "To talk to you of course. Just another one of his little games. I get you to tell me something and supposedly he quits torturing me…maybe you, but I believe that less than the promise to quit torturing me." She watched as Maura tried to process the information, evaluate the situation through the haze of the head trauma she had suffered. _Too slow_. She sighed and shook her head, "You won't tell him where Jane is hiding."

_Jane_. "The Capitol attacked. They captured me, she was hurt…she might even be…" Maura paused. She'd only thought the word to that point, not said it out loud. _Dead_.

"She's not dead," the younger Victor replied. "If she were dead, he would know. If she were dead this rebellion you started would be over instead of burning across all the districts of Panem. If she were dead, I'd be dead…you'd be dead. And while all of that might be preferable to being here…here we are."

Maura sniffled at the thought that Jane was still alive, squinted as tears filled her eyes and spilled over, the salty drops stinging the abrasions on her face where Hoyt had beaten her. It was almost worse knowing that Jane was alive and that there was no way to get to her. Her fellow Victor was right; being dead would be preferable.

Johanna crawled closer, "I thought it was all a ruse during the Quell. That lovers bullshit." Maura's eyes flashed up to meet hers, simmering with anger. "But it wasn't…was it? Stupid. He'll never stop using that against you. He'll torture you with it, draw it out, make your love absolute agony. And you'll wish you'd never loved her, wish you'd never met her, wish you'd let Casey Jones kill you in the arena. Because that would have been quick at least."

In the young woman in front of her, Maura saw what Jane had almost become…bitter, angry, disconnected. "Isn't there anyone you love?"

Johanna's face hardened, her lips slipping into a thin, pursed line, her eyes becoming glassy and vacant, "There's no one _left _I love."

"Then you can't possibly understand why I'll let him do anything his twisted mind can come up with to me…but, I'll never give him one shred of information about Jane or where she might be. Not to stop him from beating me, not to stop him from raping me, not for any promise he might make."

Johanna reached out and grabbed the neck of Maura's hospital gown and pulled her forward abruptly to whisper in her ear, "Good, because no matter what happens I probably die, and that's fine. I've been waiting to die for years. But, if he finds her, the rebellion fails. And if that should happen, you won't have to worry about Hoyt anymore; I'll kill you myself."

* * *

Jane walked towards the window in the conference room as everyone else filed out, she pulled Korsak's jacket closed in front of her and clenched her hand around the fabric. Rebellion. Full-scale rebellion. Virtually all of the districts, except Districts 1 and 2 united against the Capitol. Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker, part of a rebel Capitol faction united with the districts, escaped to District 13 to help the cause. Victors and citizens from the districts rescued and brought to District 13 the same as herself, but many, many more left behind to continue the fight. It was surreal. It should have been exhilarating; it was more than she had hoped for when they had agreed to defy the Capitol. _They. We_. Jane took a shaky breath as tears again dampened her face. _Maura_.

"He has someone I love too."

Jane looked over her shoulder at the only person who remained in the room. She would have never thought to find an ally in District 4, in a Career, in Finnick Odair.

"He won't kill her," Finnick put his hand on her shoulder.

Jane closed her eyes and shook her head, "He'll do terrible things to her…"

Finnick grabbed her and shook her until her eyes opened, his nostrils were flared and the muscles of his jaw flexed with tension, "Like he did to you…" She nodded. "Like he did to me."

Her mouth fell open, she'd been so consumed with her own pain it had slipped her mind: there were other Victors, she couldn't be the only one Hoyt had hurt.

"All those women you always saw me gallivanting around with in the Capitol every year at the Games. Heartthrob. Playboy. All those names the press, Caesar Flickerman loved to call me. There's only one woman I've ever loved; only one woman I've ever wanted to be with. My Annie. But, all those Capitol women wanted me…and President Hoyt made sure they had what they wanted." He paused and let her process what he was saying. "Korsak says you were broken, but Maura fixed you. You can have her back, maybe a little broken just like you once were, or you can do something stupid and have her dead. What do you want?"

Jane pulled away from his grasp and looked out the window once again, "All I ever wanted was to marry her, hold her in my arms every night while I slept, wake up in the morning to her smile, grow old with her by my side, with none of these memories, none of this pain, that I brought on her…a normal life, that's what I want."

Finnick turned to leave her in her guilt but paused, looking over his shoulder to speak one more time, "We're Victors, Jane. We'll never have a normal life; we have to take what we can get, or just give up and die."


	11. Decisions

**Author's Note: **Warning for violence. Also disclaimer: Any characters resembling actual real persons is entirely coincidental...ahem...*chuckles*

**CH 11: Decisions**

_We're Victors Jane. We'll never have a normal life; we have to take what we can get, or just give up and die._

Finnick's words echoed in her mind as she was taken back to the infirmary. It took days to decide. Days of closing her eyes and imagining that she would never open them to find Maura by her side again. She decided to die, the thoughts of what Hoyt was doing to Maura and the eventual end too much to bear. The half-hearted reassurances from Korsak, her mother, Lucius that they would get Maura back became increasingly insulting bordering on infuriating. Maura was as good as dead and if she wasn't already, she'd be better off if she were. With that in mind, Jane could find no reason to continue living.

She stopped eating, stopped drinking, if they wanted her alive she'd make them stick needles in her veins to keep her so. Jane knew they couldn't keep someone alive indefinitely like that; she would win eventually. Be free. And if this heaven, and this God her mother spoke of were true, then Maura would be there waiting for her.

Jo Friday only left her side to be taken for a walk by Tommy. But, even when present the little dog had seemed to accept the futility of trying to cheer up her owner. She stood watch for hours on end at the foot of the bed, her tiny chin resting on Jane's leg, the occasional plaintive whimper of commiseration. Angela tried bringing Jane her things that had been salvaged when they had fled District 8: the picture of Frankie as a child with his Guardian Chogokin toy, her father's old work jacket that Jane now clutched to for endless hours as she lay in the hospital bed. But, the sentiments made no difference. To Jane they were just reminders of everything that had been lost. They knew better than to bring her anything of Maura's.

The pain of hunger and abject sadness overcame her and Jane began to moan, tears streaming down her face until Lucius appeared, syringe in hand. He pulled a chair up to her bedside and sat, those striking blue eyes duller than she remembered, and bloodshot. "I can't keep you going like this forever," he said.

Jane's lips parted with a ragged breath, "Good."

He held her hand, squeezing it tightly as he slid the syringe into the port in her arm and watched the drugs drag her under.

* * *

"Darling…"

The word was tinny, like an echo off a metal wall, it was all around and coming from nowhere.

"Darling…"

Then there was touch, soft but not hesitant, combing through her hair, rubbing gentle circles on her back, caressing lightly down her arm to her hand where she could feel the touch begin to slide the wedding ring off her finger.

Jane awoke with a start, "No!" she wailed, trying to jerk her hand away, only to have the ring slip off her gaunt and boney digit and clatter to the floor.

Constance retrieved it and turned it over and over in her palm as she sat down at Jane's bedside. Tears welled in her eyes. "You know, as a child, Maura never cried. I remember it worried me for a while. Children are supposed to cry…over the littlest things. But, she rarely did…at least, not around her father and I. I wish she would have, when she was younger, and that I had scooped her up into my arms and held her and rocked her until she was no longer hurt or afraid." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a strip of cloth, embroidered white silk, Jane recognized it immediately.

"From our wedding…" she mumbled as she watched Constance pull the silk through the ring.

The older woman smiled, tears trickling down her cheek as she reached for Jane's hand, placed the ring against her wrist and began to wrap the silk around several times before tying it off. "You'll have to wear it like this until you gain back some weight so the ring doesn't fall off." Constance took Jane's hand between both of hers and squeezed. "The first time I ever really saw her cry was after you were reaped. And I…I remember being so shocked at her emotion, I didn't know what to do. Maybe…if she'd cried more as a child I would have had the motherly sense to go to her, to stroke her hair, to hold her and tell her it would be alright. But, I didn't. So, we just let her cry. Alone. She cried all night that first night. I was going to keep her home from school the next day but she insisted on going. I think being at school was the only time she didn't cry the entire time you were gone. Every afternoon she came home she cried herself to sleep. One day I said, 'I didn't know you and Jane were such close friends,' through her sobs I could just make out her saying that you'd barely even spoken to one another. She loved you so much…even back then."

"I kissed her on the playground when we were twelve, before our first Reaping," Jane crinkled her nose as she recollected, trying to stave off the tears.

Constance smiled and squeezed her hand again, "I know. They broadcast the two of you telling that story during the Quell." She rose from her chair and sat on the bed, bending down to wrap her arms around Jane and rest her head against Jane's temple. "I've lost everything, my husband, my daughter…" she whispered. Constance balled up some of Jane's matted hair in her fist as she cried, tears falling from her eyes to Jane's skin, rolling down to mingle with her daughter-in-law's own tears of sorrow. "You're all I have left, and now I'm losing you too."

"I failed her," Jane choked out, "I said I'd always be by her side…I said I'd never let anything hurt her."

Constance sat up and cupped Jane's face in her hands, "You also said that you would be her strength, that when she was lost, you would help her find her way. She's lost Jane, not dead. She's out there. She needs you to believe that. She needs you to live."

* * *

"How are the rebels communicating with one another?" Hoyt prowled in circles around her, occasionally kicking her feet out from under her so that she yelped as the rigging suspending her by her wrists caught her fall.

"I don't know," Maura gasped as she struggled to get her feet back under her and relieve the burning pressure in her shoulders.

"Who is leading the rebellion in each district?" He stopped in front of her, curled his hand around her throat and pressed his thumb into the vein that ran down the side of her neck.

"I don't know," she answered again, raspy and shallow as she struggled to talk and breathe.

His hand moved slowly to the hospital gown's tie at the back of her neck and pulled. He moved in closer, pulling her body flush against his, his breath washing over her cheek and ear as his fingers dragged down the sweat-slicked skin of her back to the next tie, loosed it, and down to the next until the gown hung open, her backside bare and exposed.

"I love scars," he hissed, fingering the raised stripes across her back. "I love how they bind a person to a memory. You can never be free of something when you have its scar to constantly remind you. You can never forget this night," Hoyt placed both hands on her back and squeezed the marred skin in his grasp. "The crack of the whip, the pain as it split you open again and again…Tell me, Maura, was the pain excruciating?"

"Yes," she whispered in response.

"And Jane," his hands stroked down her back and over her hips to her stomach as he pulled her back against him in an embrace, "When she looks at her hands and sees the scars I left her, do they throb with the memory of me?"

The corner of Maura's mouth turned up and she closed her eyes, "Not even once since we've been together."

She heard the air part and went stiff, bracing herself, before the whipping crop bit into her lower back. Maura screamed, lost her footing and dangled by her wrists, flailing and rocking as his strikes tore into her lower back, buttocks, and the backs of her thighs.

Hoyt stood in front of her again; his shirt and face speckled with the bloody castoff from his strikes and slowly pulled the crop through a white cloth, leaving the rag red. "You will appear on a broadcast and deliver my terms: the rebellion was a mistake; Jane should be turned over to the Capitol, and in return, for the rebels laying down arms, the Capitol offers amnesty to the rebelling districts."

Maura raised her head slowly; jaw clenched and lip trembling as she regarded him coldly. Her leg shook as she struggled to find footing, but she managed to gain a toehold on the now blood-slicked floor and turn her back to him. Her fingers stretched and flexed until she was able to wrap them around the rigging that suspended her. She looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath and exhaled as she anchored herself. "I will not."

* * *

Strength didn't return easily; Jane was worn down, not just physically, but emotionally. But, a few days of eating after her visit from Constance and she managed to sit up and transfer herself to a wheelchair at her mother and Korsak's bidding. They wheeled her through the catacombs of the subterranean district and she learned what had really become of District 13. How, during the Dark Days, the rebels had taken control of the nuclear weapons in the District and aimed them at the Capitol, agreeing to stand down in exchange for freedom, that District 13 would be left alone. The massive underground nuclear facility had been the center of all new construction since every part of District 13 above ground was obliterated. Its citizens lived almost entirely underground, only gaining access to the outside at certain scheduled parts of the day – the times Tommy came to pick up Jo Friday for her walk, it occurred to her. As Korsak recounted District 13's survival since the first rebellion, Jane found herself longing for District 8, its smoke-filled skies and block after block of grey and brown stone and brick. At least it was outside in the air, the buildings may have been walls, there was the fence but at least there was a sky.

"And this is where I work," Angela said with a smile as they arrived at the kitchens.

Everyone in District 13 had a job, and the plethora of rebel refugees they had taken in from the other districts were no different. Jane nodded and tried to force a smile for her mother's sake as Angela checked the daily tattoo the District 13 machines scanned onto her arm providing her schedule. It was time to begin prep for lunch service.

"I'll see you at lunch," her mother smiled, running her hand lightly over Jane's cheek.

"She seems…" it took Jane a moment to search for the word, "…content."

Korsak continued to push her along in the wheelchair, "Your mother is a very resilient woman. She thrives on being needed. And there are a lot of people here that need to be cooked for."

"I want to go back to District 8," Jane blurted out.

Korsak brought her to a jerky stop, "Not possible."

"Not yet, anyway," Another voice countered

Jane looked up to see Patrick Doyle standing in the doorway to a room.

"It's too dangerous," Korsak argued.

"She can be the judge of that…when she's well enough to make the decision," Doyle reached his hand down and pulled Jane out of the chair. "You look like a damned invalid in that thing."

She swayed for a moment on her feet, the sudden change of position, engaging muscles barely used for more than a week left her feeling dizzy. Doyle hooked his arm through her own and steadied her. "Walk with me," he commanded. Jane nodded and looked down at the floor, amazed that her legs actually obeyed.

He led her into a room filled with computers and monitors, a Command Center, she ascertained. Scenes of fighting played out across a few of the screens. "District 8," Doyle pointed at the wall of monitors.

Jane reached out and put her hand over the images. "We're still fighting."

Doyle nodded, "Our forces are holding their own in 8, but we've taken a lot of losses, massive structural damage. Still, we've fared better than others." His eyes wandered to another screen, "District 12 is torched. Boggs and the soldiers from 13 managed to rescue the survivors, but there weren't many. District 11 has almost complete control over their land and resources. But, District 10 is almost a complete loss. The Capitol used some kind of biological agent on the cattle herds, wiped them out. The rebels lost hope, we pulled out who we could. Your father is still in 9 helping lead the fighting there…"

"Pop?" Jane smiled and reached up to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "I hoped he might be here."

"We'll get him out if things take a bad turn, but the fighting's not that heavy there for now," Doyle squeezed her hand.

"And Maura?" Jane turned to face Doyle. "When are we going to get her out? When do we rescue Maura?"

"That depends." An unfamiliar woman's voice emanated from a darkened corner.

Jane watched as the figure emerged. Like all of the people of District 13 she had encountered thus far, the woman seemed unremarkable in appearance. Average in height, slight in build, after all, food in District 13 was neither extravagant nor particularly plentiful. Brown eyes, plain of face. Only two things really stuck out: her brown hair was accented by a chunk of silver-grey that framed her face, as she walked closer her hair didn't move as if a Capitol stylist had sprayed it into obedient submission, and her clothes. Her suit was not the drab utilitarian garb of the grunts Jane had seen in the hallways. Neutral and conservative in color it still put forth an obvious appearance of tailoring, with a high collar that seemed to button uncomfortably under the woman's chin. Regimented, militaristic, Jane thought, down to the way she walked across the room.

"Jane," Doyle slid his arm out from hers and motioned towards the woman, "Meet the leader of District 13, President Alma Tamaro."

"Depends on what?" Jane asked, eschewing the pleasantries of introduction.

President Tamaro stopped right in front of her, eyes wandering slowly up and down Jane's form, taking inventory. "On whether or not you'll be my Mockingjay."

* * *

It was a stinging burn that brought her back to consciousness. A stinging that started in the skin behind her knees and crawled up her thighs to her buttocks and lower back. Maura opened tear-filled eyes and succumbed to the pain, whimpering at first and then crying out, her body shaking. She flexed her hands and realized for once she was in an actual bed instead of the hard tile floor of the room she had been kept in, she tried to push herself off her stomach but hands fell to her shoulders and pushed her back down. As her vision cleared she could see the surgical tray next to the bed, disinfectant and bloody cotton balls. The doctor stepped into her line of sight, picked up an instrument and the stinging was replaced by subtle warmth that seemed to erase the pain.

"You can roll over on your back now."

Maura moved slowly, fearful of the pain, but there was none, the lacerations were healed. The doctor pulled off her mask and discarded it as she continued her exam. Maura watched as gloved hands moved methodically across and down her body, checking the contusions on her ribs and legs, and the chaffing on her wrists. Finally, the doctor placed both of her hands on Maura's abdomen and began to palpate it. "They tell me you barely eat what they give you…" She pressed harder, "Any discomfort?"

Maura shook her head, "What's the point? So I'll live longer for him to torture me."

No response. "You need to eat," the doctor finally said as she pulled a sheet over Maura's naked body, "or I'll be forced to sedate you and put a tube down your nose."

"Please…" Maura begged, "please help me."

A flicker of emotion flashed in the doctor's eyes as she unfolded a blanket and gently draped it over Maura, leaning down as she tucked it around her torso, "Tell him what he wants to know. It's the only way."

The door opened and the doctor snapped immediately to attention, turning to her tray and securing the last of her supplies. Maura's breath caught in her throat and she gripped the sheets on the bed to keep her hands from trembling. The doctor's eyes flashed towards her one last time and Maura saw fear. No one knew peace around him. Hoyt's presence altered the energy in the room, displaced the air, filled all the senses with his acrid smell and violating touch even before he was visible.

He wasn't alone, two orderlies and two doctors flanked him. Maura watched the female doctor exit, praying she might be another Lucius, that maybe she would take pity and stop whatever else Hoyt had planned for her. The door shut quietly behind her as she exited.

Hoyt carried a small handled container covered by a black cloth and set it on the surgical tray next to her bed. "Now, where did we leave off?" He stroked his chin dramatically, as if he was actually struggling to recall, "Oh! Yes. You were just about to agree to deliver my terms in a broadcast."

The two orderlies took up positions on either side of her bed; Maura's eyes shifted nervously back and forth between them and then to Hoyt. _Tell him what he wants to know. It's the only way_. Maura closed her eyes and filled her mind with Jane.

She'd eyed Jane with lighthearted suspicion when hours after their wedding Jane escorted her to a Peacekeeper's transport vehicle driven by John Martell and Patrick Doyle. _Where are we going?_ Maura pried as they were jostled about in the windowless back of the transport. Jane only smiled and held her new wife closer, trailing her fingers up and down the smooth silk of the gown Cinna had left her.

The fence and towers of District 8 were just barely visible where Martell and Doyle left them: in a small field of soft and verdant grass under a setting sun outside of captivity. Jane lit the torches that had already been set up for them and spread out the blankets. _I wanted you to have a honeymoon…this was the best I could come up with._

_It's perfect_.

Jane filled her mind and the sensation of her washed over her body. The taste of her lips, the feeling of thousands of strands of almost black hair tickling through her fingers as Jane laid her naked on the blanket under the stars. The color orange from the torchlight dancing across her rippling back in waves of reflected fire as Jane made love to her. The salty smell of sweat and the faint sweetness of grass as she rolled Jane off the blanket, kissed down her body and settled on the earth between her wife's legs.

_I love you, I always have_. Jane's arms wrapped around her as her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing evened.

_I love you too. I always will_.

Maura opened her eyes and locked her gaze with Hoyt's. "I will not."

He looked at the two orderlies, "Strap her down."

Restraints were fastened to her wrists and ankles, straps slung and tightened across her shins, thighs, and chest. Maura looked to the side to see Hoyt lifting the black cover from the small box. The enormous insect launched itself violently against the glass of its prison.

"Tracker Jacker," Hoyt smiled as he lifted the box and brought it to Maura's face for a closer look. "I believe you are familiar with them."


	12. Altered Reality

**Author Notes:** Trigger warning as in previous chapters. Also, I know my work schedule doesn't allow frequent updating, so thank you to everyone sticking around for this story. I know the scenes in the past few chapters and for a little while longer are difficult, but I hope you will all hang on for the ride.

**CH 12: Altered Reality**

They didn't mince words in District 13. There was no colorful language, no flowery name designed to make her new dwelling place sound like more than it was. Compartment 825. By comparison it made her efficiency apartment back in District 8 look like one of the Victor's mansions. Cattle cars in District 9 were probably larger. But, it wasn't the infirmary at least. There would be no more revolving door of doctors and nurses at all hours; she didn't have to let anyone in if she didn't want to. Compartment 825. It was hers. In the wake of having seemingly lost everything, having a place of her own, where she could be alone gave her at least a minute amount of consolation.

Jane set Jo Friday down and closed the door. What passed for beds, but in reality were more like cots, were situated in the left and right corners separated by a small dresser wedged in between. Drab and rough linens sat folded at the foot of each. Maura would hate the large weave, the coarseness, the way it would probably itch on their naked skin. Jane tried to shake the thought free. It took only four strides to cross the entire compartment where the real feature sat above the dresser. A window. A slit really. Six inches by twelve, she guessed. But, it allowed in some natural light, a view of something more than the claustrophobic monotony of grey walls and ceilings. And it opened. Jane pulled the small handle and cracked the window, holding her hand to the space as a slight breeze rolled across her palm.

"When we get her back…" Jane whispered to herself, "…Maura will be happy we have a window."

She had to say it out loud. Inside her mind it was all darkness and horror. If she made herself say it out loud, she felt a flicker of belief that Maura was alive. That she would see her again, hold her in her arms and kiss her. A light tap on her door washed the daydream away, rippling through the reflection until nothing recognizable remained.

Jane smiled as she opened the door, "Hey, little brother." She reached out and ruffled her hand through thickening hair. The meals in District 13 were perfectly calculated for the exact caloric intake to get a person through the day; yet, they were obviously more than Tommy had been afforded all those years in the Capitol as an avox. Jane almost hadn't recognized him again when he first came to visit her in the infirmary. "You look better each day."

_You too_. He signed. Reaching behind, Jane watched as a delicate hand filled her brother's and emerged into the doorway. Her eyes traveled from Tommy's hand, to the woman's, up her arm to bright blue eyes and a fresh face ringed by blonde curls.

"You must be Lydia," Jane extended her hand in greeting, "I've heard a lot about you."

"It's nice to meet you finally," the young woman giggled and moved closer into Tommy's side.

Jane clipped the makeshift leash to Jo Friday's collar and handed it over to Tommy.

_Join us?_ He asked.

"Not today," Jane shook her head and cleared her throat as memories of walking the little dog with Maura flooded her memory.

With her compartment empty, Jane settled onto one of the beds, her hand hovering in the air over where Maura would have been. She ran her fingertips over the rough sheet where a warm body should have been curled up next to her. "When you're back," she murmured, "I'll wrap my arms around you and hold you so close you'll forget we were ever apart…"

Jane rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, her fingers drumming on her abdomen…like how Maura had done one morning when she'd awakened early. _Tap. Tap. Tap_. Until Jane slowly drifted into consciousness.

_I had a dream about you_, Maura whispered, her fingers splaying across Jane's stomach and kneading the skin as she dipped her head to take one of Jane's nipples between her lips.

"I dream about you every night," Jane groaned as she pushed her hand past the waistband of her pants and between her legs to find herself wet and craving touch. Her eyes fluttered and her breathing quickened and trembled as she stroked her arousal to memories of Maura inside her. "Come back to me."

* * *

Maura sat naked on the edge of the bed, arms limp, hands resting on the tops of her thighs. Her eyes stared blankly ahead and in her mind she tried to force her brain to place names to images. _Wall. Door_. Recognition came slowly and with difficulty and even as she said the words to herself she didn't believe them. It was a door, except it wasn't. _A mouth, maybe? A cave. No…a door_. She licked her lips; they were rough, cracked, and as she swallowed her throat burned. The sensation traveled with the saliva all the way down into the pit of her stomach where it settled heavily and painfully and made her nauseous.

"D…oor," she whispered as it opened. _Yes, door_. Her arm throbbed where the needle had invaded her vein, her body dredging up the horrendous pain that had consumed her not so long ago as he walked towards her.

"My, my, that Tracker Jacker venom is quite potent isn't it?" Hoyt came into focus in front of her, placed a hand on each of her knees and spread her legs so he could stand in between them, as close to her as possible.

Maura didn't resist, didn't flinch, as he grasped her by the chin and lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Isn't it?" He asked again, smiling victoriously as she nodded in agreement. Turning her head from side to side, he inspected her, running his fingers down the veins in her neck and over purpling contusions. Her eyes followed his hands as he moved them to her shoulders, stroking across them and down her arms.

Maura took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Ah," Hoyt let the word slip out slowly and linger as he moved his mouth to her ear, caressing and cupping her breasts as he spoke, "My hand cream. Amber oil and lavender. Do you like it?"

"Yes," Maura nodded, continuing to watch as his hands traveled over every inch of her skin, down over her hips and then over her stomach. The pain had made everything so clear, made the truth so apparent she didn't know how she had failed to see it on her own.

His inventory complete, he again lifted her chin towards him. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"I knew we could come to an understanding," Hoyt smiled, his close-cropped nails dragging down the outside of her thighs as he stepped back and turned to the pair of attendants in the room. "Have her cleaned up, fed, and clothed. I want her on the air this evening."

* * *

The dining hall reminded her of the cafeteria at the school back in District 8. Except, as she thought about, she realized that there was probably very little of the school left…if anything at all. Rubble. Burned bricks and pulverized chunks of rock; that was probably all that remained. Maybe a few pipes from deep down in the boiler room would still be salvageable. Jane ran through her mind the last time she had been in the school: maintenance on the old furnace in preparation for winter. She closed her eyes and heard the clank of her wrench on the pipes, felt the hot steam against her already sweaty skin, and heard the old custodian Jerry Fritz laugh and slap his knee when the old metal beast kicked back on.

Jane opened her eyes. Jerry Fritz wasn't in District 13. He was probably dead. His school probably bombed into oblivion. If she knew Jerry, he'd probably refused to leave. That school and the kids it housed had been his life. "We'll rebuild it…" Jane mumbled as she repetitively dipped a hard chunk of bread over and over again in the bowl of brown stew. She looked up to see Tommy and Lydia staring back at her questioningly. Forcing a smile, she shook her head and took a tentative bite.

"Jane!" Korsak called out to her from the dining hall doorway, motioning for her. "They need you in Command. Now!"

_Maura_. Pushing her tray aside and leaving a slop of greasy broth in its wake, she leapt to her feet and bounded towards him. _Maura_. Her hands trembled as she reached the threshold, but her old mentor and friend stilled them with his own touch as he led her from the hall.

Overwhelmed by fear and the haunting feeling of wrong that was constricting her chest, Jane clung tighter and tighter to Korsak, completely dependent on his quick yet steady steps to lead her through the maze to the Command Center as her awareness of the area around her faded in and out.

The other victors, Doyle, Constance, The Capitol defectors, the District 13 military commanders, and President Alma Tamaro all stood gathered around the central television that aired the Capitol broadcasts. Only Constance seemed to notice their entrance, hurrying towards them and taking one of Jane's hands from Korsak to pull her into the rapt group huddled in front of the screen.

Jane tried to fight the sense of urgent terror that was bubbling inside her; tried to tell herself it would just be more war footage, a huge victory for one side or the other, some staged and colorful propaganda, or maybe a Presidential address from Hoyt. She cocked her head, brow furrowed, as it was Caesar Flickerman who appeared on the screen instead. He was wearing his familiar blue; in fact, Jane thought it might be the same blue suit he had worn at the Quarter Quell interviews. "Why did you bring me to see this…?"

She was falling. An eternal plummet that didn't seem to end until Korsak caught her in his arms, easing her down to the floor on her knees as the camera panned out to reveal Caesar Flickerman's guest.

"Maura…" The name came out strangled and propelled by tears as Jane reached towards the screen.

* * *

Maura ran her hands down the dress she had been outfitted in. It was blue. _Jane's favorite color_. The feeling of the fabric on her body made her skin crawl…_Jane's favorite color_…she scratched her nails into the silk of the skirt and wished she could tear the garment into shreds. She looked at Caesar, that smile he always had when he was trying to lure a guest into a sense of security right before he delivered a question that sliced through flesh as if it was no barrier at all. Clasping her hands together, Maura waited, twisting nervously at an invisible something on her left ring finger. She glanced down at her hand for a moment and tried to think of what was supposed to be there, but she couldn't remember. The buried memory made the digit ache, and she stopped fidgeting with it, coming to the conclusion that whatever had once been there was probably better off gone.

And then the questions came. Questions about the discovery of District 13, how Patrick Doyle and Jane's avox brother had escaped the Capitol, the messages sent to the other districts, the subtle pledges on the Victory Tour from some of the districts' leadership of joining them in rebellion, that Jane's father was still alive.

Maura had no sense of the passage of time, only that Caesar asked and she answered until he paused, his brows knitted together with concern as he reached for her clammy and trembling hand. "I was going to ask you your thoughts about the rebellion…about this war that has consumed our nation, but I can see it takes a great toll on you. Perhaps, we shouldn't…"

"No," Maura shook her head and looked Caesar in the eyes. "No, I want to talk about it. Everyone…" she looked towards the camera. "Everyone out there needs to stop and think, to seriously consider the precipice we could shortly find ourselves on. Human kind was almost eradicated during the Dark Days. An entire civilization gone. That is the game the rebels are playing now; and it is a terrible, terrible game with grave consequences."

"Maura," Caesar scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned towards her. "I want to be sure I'm clear on what you're saying. It sounds as if you're imploring the rebels to consider a ceasefire?"

"Yes," Maura nodded. "Yes. A ceasefire. President Hoyt in his exceptional magnanimity has offered full amnesty for the rebelling districts. Peace. All they have to do is lay down their arms."

"Is that all?" Caesar prodded.

Maura's gaze shifted slowly from his and towards the camera, the broadcast zooming in to fill the field of view with only her face. "And turn over the rebel leader Jane Rizzoli to the Capitol for High Treason and War Crimes."

* * *

Jane was on her feet, lurching towards the screen, reaching, clawing, and trying to hold onto the image of Maura that was now black. Behind her she could hear muffled discussion amongst the District 13 commanders and President Tamaro grow louder and become increasingly accusatory. _Traitor. Liar. Enemy_.

"SHUT UP!" Jane screamed, hands flying to cover her ears as she spun to face them. "To hell with all of you!" she snarled as she pushed past them and towards the door.

"Jane Rizzoli! You are NOT dismissed," President Alma Tamaro's voice froze her at the door, her hard, steely frame already having closed the distance on Jane as she turned.

"He made her say those things," Jane growled. "He's tortured her and he's made her say those things! Can't you see that!? She would never betray the rebellion…" she paused as hot tears streaked her face. "…Me."

"And yet," the older woman with nary a flicker of genuine emotion reached into her suit pocket and produced a handkerchief, dabbing lightly at the wet trails on Jane's cheeks, "the damage is done."

With a deep breath, Jane squared her shoulders and brushed President Tamaro's hand and hollow gesture away. "Rescue her. Get her out of there. And I'll do anything you want." Her brown eyes smoldered as she spoke, "Anything. I'll be your Mockingjay."

* * *

Maura walked slowly around the perimeter of the hospital room. She counted her steps, listening to her bare feet press and peel off the tile floor. They had taken her shoes but left her in the dress. Reaching behind her, she fingered the zipper and considered ripping the garment off, but she knew doing so without permission might make him angry. She continued to pace, counting each step until the door opened. The count was lost then by the interruption, but she continued her movement around the room's edge, watching him as he watched her.

Dramatically, he clapped with purposeful slowness, letting the sound of his cupped, meeting palms break the silence. "Bravo." _Clap. Clap. Clap_. "Bravo. You have been…" he moved towards her, catching her by the arm and pulling her towards him, "…everything I had hoped for."

Hoyt gruffly turned her around and reached for the zipper of the dress, dragging it down centimeter by calculated centimeter until he could push the front forward and guided each of Maura's arms out of the sheath-like three quarter sleeves. Arms wrapped around her from behind, hands roaming across her bare stomach and chest he maneuvered her towards the tray next to the bed, pulled the thin cloth covering back and revealed a green, liquid-filled syringe.

Maura whimpered and weakly tried to pull away but his hug tightened and pinned her between himself and the bed as he lifted the syringe, pulled her left arm free from her side and jabbed the needle into the visible tract mark from the last dose. Trembles turned into convulsions as Hoyt's arms around her were the only thing that kept her standing, and in her blood…liquid flames scorching her vein by vein, extremity by extremity as her heart pumped the venom throughout her body. _I told you everything_, she thought, as the pain consumed her once again…_everything_.

"Can you imagine," he whispered in her ear as the convulsions began to subside, "what the venom would feel like if it weren't diluted? I'd imagine what you're feeling now…times one thousand," Hoyt smiled grimly at the thought, "maybe more."

She could hear a voice, echoing in her ear, each word the same word three times. _What, what, what, the, the, the, venom, venom, venom_… But, she didn't know whose voice it was until hands began to slide up the inside of her thighs to the hem of the skirt she was still wearing.

"I do so love you in the color blue," the voice whispered, lips and tongue caressing her ear as it spoke.

_Jane_. "NO!" Maura screamed, fighting against the arms that immobilized her, pushing, clawing at the vice around her body; thrashing to no avail.

The body behind her pushed her forward and pinned her face down to the bed, one hand crawling higher and higher inside her leg. "Who am I?" The voice whispered in her ear, the hand slinking higher.

_The first time I saw you, you were wearing a blue dress…She likes you in blue_. "Jane!" Maura shrieked, flailing her arms and swinging her elbows trying to dislodge the body that held her down.

Hoyt smiled and pressed his lips and nose to the skin just under her ear as he inhaled the scent of lavender he'd had Maura bathed in. "Yessss," he hissed.

* * *

Everyday was excruciating. Every command meeting was the same. President Tamaro would already be sitting at the head of the long table in the Command Center when everyone else arrived, a hot cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Jane had taken to sitting at the far opposite end of the table. Every meeting she posed the same question, no one bothered to speak or try to initiate the day's business until she'd asked. _When are you rescuing Maura?_ Now, two weeks since Jane had agreed to be her Mockingjay, even the rebel President waited for the question. Her answer, like the question never changed_. Plans take time._

Time. No one seemed to understand that Maura didn't have the luxury of time. Every day in Hoyt's clutches…the thought still made her shiver and lodged in her throat. Jane was beginning to be ashamed of her own selfishness. She just wanted Maura back, in whatever shape she returned in, she just wanted her back. _Do you think I'd let a weak person have me?_ She thought back to the words she had spoken to Maura that first night on the train to the Capitol after the Reaping. Maura was strong. Hoyt wouldn't break her. She told herself that over and over, out loud in the dark of night as she lay on the bed in her compartment. _He won't break her. He can't break her. Whatever he does to her, I can put her back together. Like she did for me_.

Jane ran her hands down the black battle uniform that covered her body. It was nearly seamless…flawless, and fit as if it had been made for her. She paused, fingers tracing the bottom of the breastplate, eyes wandering to the helmet at her side, sleek and gleaming. Of course, it occurred to her, it had been made for her. It had been sitting in some box of Plutarch Heavensbee's since he'd defected to District 13. Waiting. Waiting for her to be ready. She wondered how long they had all known. Plans put into motion during the Quell by all accounts. Anticipatory arrangements for a rebellion they had hoped would come. It barely made any sense at all to her, that these Capitol people had joined them to begin with, much less that they had been banking on a rebellion before the idea of it even occurred to her and Maura.

Slowly her eyes lifted and met the expectant look of the man who would have been the next Head Gamemaker if he hadn't decided to turn unlikely freedom fighter. "Recognize the craftsmanship?" he asked, the corner of his mouth drawing up in a pleased smile.

"Cinna," Jane answered. He nodded. "Where is he? What happened to him?"

At that question the portly Capitol citizen's smile faded. "We weren't able to get him out."

Cinna had poured his heart and soul into doing what he could to aid her in the Games and the immediate thereafter. He'd crafted garments that were more than clothes, they were hidden messages, fabric personas of who she needed to be and come across as at any given moment. And he'd planned for this garment too: for something deceptively complex yet outwardly utilitarian…for something heroic and symbolic. And she would never get to thank him. "He's dead," Jane murmured, averting her gaze to look out the window of the hovercraft as it settled in down in what remained of District 8.

Part of her had hoped it wouldn't be as bad as everyone said, as bad as the images she had seen in the Command Center made it appear. It was. Jane kicked through the rubble as Boggs and his small contingent of soldiers spread out and formed a perimeter. Inside, she stood with Finnick Odair, Riley Cooper, Patrick Doyle, and the film crew. Doyle beckoned her over where Lou Kifkin and his squad of rebels that had stayed behind in the district met them.

Kifkin kicked the fine dirt on the ground into a rudimentary strategy map. "If this is us," he made an x with his toe, "the Capitol ground troops are here…here…and here. They're still hitting us with hovercraft fire on occasion, but there's no seeming rhyme or reason. I think they've redeployed most of the air power elsewhere; they hit us when they happen to have one available I guess."

"What we need," Plutarch Heavensbee interrupted, "is some footage of the Mockingjay leading the rebels on an assault. Nothing too dangerous of course!"

Jane wrenched one of the automatic rifles from the hands of nearby District 13 soldier and popped a shot off in the air, "It's a war," she said, glaring at him. "There's no such thing as not too dangerous."

"Yes, yes, of course…it's just…" he stammered, "…you're very important to the cause. The Quell and everything since has made you the movement's sweetheart…you're…"

Jane turned and motioned for everyone to follow, sending the camera crew scrambling to gather their gear, "So everyone keeps saying," she yelled back. "And Plutarch…don't call me sweetheart."


	13. Belly of the Whale

**CH 13: Belly of the Whale**

It was exhilarating. She had felt alive again. The last time she had run through the streets of District 8 it had been in panic, gripped with fear, and had ended with a bullet tearing through her side and Maura being ripped from her grasp. This time, she had nothing to lose. Charles Hoyt had been terribly wrong it occurred to her as she plowed through alleyways and around corners, assaulting Capitol troops with her band of rebels and District 13 support. He had thought taking Maura would end the rebellion: that she would crumble, give up, or perhaps even die. She almost had. But, she didn't want to die anymore. She wanted to do exactly what they had set out to accomplish: tear the Capitol down to its foundation.

Jane sat in the hovercraft as it lifted off from District 8, Lou Kifkin and the rebels staying behind raising the three-fingered salute to see them off. Her heart was still pounding, adrenaline coursing through her veins, anger and defiance set into her clenched jaw. She could feel the blood from the gash on her forehead still trickling down her brow. Jane reached up and wiped it away and then stared at the red smears on her fingers. Closing her eyes, she felt the skin above her left eyebrow tingle with a phantom touch.

_Do you know how close you came to losing your eye?_ Maura cupped her face with one hand as the other took a damp cloth and began to gently wipe the blood and grease away.

_Pipe blew_. Her voice was breathless and trembled as she spoke, not from pain, though the injury ached terribly. In the year that she'd been seeing the seamstress to treat her wounds, some from the odd jobs she did around the district, most from the fights at Cavanaugh's, this was the first time Maura Isles had touched her face. Jane closed her eyes and focused on how Maura's thumb stroked softly back and forth across her cheek as she cleaned the cut.

_You should wear protective glasses. My father keeps some at the factory; I could procure you a pair…_

Jane nodded, _Ok_.

When Jane opened her eyes it wasn't Maura blotting the wound, but Patrick Doyle, his touch rough and fumbling. She winced, reaching up to take the piece of gauze from him and hold it steady to the laceration to staunch the bleeding.

"Sorry," he apologized, "I don't have her touch…"

Jane took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. _No one does_. "What now?"

Doyle sat down next to her, "Plutarch and the film crew will turn the footage into some propaganda spots, 'propos' they call them. Air them to all of Panem."

Jane arched an eyebrow and looked at him skeptically, "How? The Capitol controls the broadcast network."

"Beetee," Doyle replied, "He basically redesigned and upgraded the network that transmits the programming from the Capitol. He's fairly certain he can hack it. Probably can't give us sole control of broadcasting, but it should be enough to patch in these propos."

Slowly, the pieces had begun to fall into place over time. Why District 13 had come to their aid, rescued her. Why they would have gone to the trouble to rescue the other Victors they had, taken in the refugee populations from the rebelling districts. "Everyone has a role to play," Jane murmured. _Mockingjay_. She thought of Finnick Odair and how enraptured the citizens of the Capitol were with him. No doubt, Finnick would be appearing in the propos, a beloved face to rally more Capitol folk to their cause. Riley Cooper from District 6, like Jane, she had not been content to live idly in her victory. District 6 built Panem's hovercraft, and Riley had perfected her skills as a mechanical engineer. And Beetee of course. Everything would be for naught without access to communications. The refugees. Jane gritted her teeth and shook her head. That thought, rubbed her the worst of all. A plague some years back had rendered most of District 13's population infertile. _Vessels… _The first inclination of any species is above all else, to survive.

President Alma Tamaro. The benevolence of her actions had grown increasingly suspect, Jane turned her head to regard Patrick Doyle, "She will rescue Maura…"

Doyle reached for Jane's hand and took it in his own, "The plan is classified; but she assures me it is in motion."

Not separating her gaze from his, Jane squeezed his hand, "If she's lying to me…I'll kill her."

Doyle nodded and leaned back against the seat, "If she's lying…I'll help you."

* * *

Exhaustion from the excitement and physical exertion afforded Jane one of the best night's sleeps she'd had since losing Maura that wasn't pharmaceutically induced. Her body resisted, waking despite the intrusive touch that was shaking her. Through the haze of half-sleep she began to register a voice in accompaniment to the physical touch.

"Janie…wake up sweetheart…"

Her eyes opened to find her small compartment illuminated by the risen sun from the tiny window slot and her mother sitting on the side of the bed, fingers tracing the edge of the bandage above her eye and then reaching to comb through her dusty and matted hair.

"How'd you get in here?" Jane groaned, trying to pull the thin sheet over her head. _So much for privacy._

"One of the President's guards let me in," Angela replied, tugging the sheet back from her daughter's head with a smile. It reminded her of Jane's childhood and the morning battles over early wakeups.

"Shouldn't you be in the cafeteria, cooking breakfast?" Jane rolled away from her mother and tucked her face into the wall.

"It's past breakfast. You've overslept. And you're late!" Angela answered with increasing exasperation, ripping the covers from her daughter's body as she rose. "President Tamaro has been waiting in Command for you for half an hour!"

* * *

Alma Tamaro sat at her usual place at the head of the table, fingernails tapping impatiently on the black tabletop as Jane strode in. She cocked her head, tracking the Victor from the doorway all the way to her seat at the table. "Well, now that we're all here…" she tapped a button on the console next to her seat and rose as individual screens emerged from the table in front of each attendant. "Our airtime assault has begun…"

_Assault_. The word took hold of Jane's attention immediately, her body straightening up in her chair as her hands flew to the table and began to grip it with anticipation.

President Tamaro continued, "For those of you that missed yesterday's broadcasts of the first propo, we'll replay it now…" she looked at Jane with one of her signature faux smiles that were becoming increasingly unsettling.

_Airtime assault. The propo_. It wasn't the kind of assault that Jane had hoped for when the word was first spoken, but she watched the screen nonetheless. A tiny flame appeared, growing and spreading until it consumed all of the blackness, a fiery Mockingjay bursting out of the conflagration to be replaced by an image of Jane herself, in the battle uniform Cinna had designed, standing in front of the real flames and smoking ruins of a building in District 8 after one of the Capitol's bombs had fallen during the filming the previous day.

Jane felt chills run down her spine as her image spoke on the screen, "This is a message for the people of Panem, all of you that have joined us in rebellion against the Capitol and those of you that haven't yet decided where you stand. I'm here. I'm alive. And I'm in District 8 today where I have witnessed the atrocities the Capitol forces have committed. Innocent men, women, and children murdered…murdered for desiring freedom. I want to tell all of you, that if you think the Capitol will honor its word in the event of a ceasefire, look at what they've done here. Look at what they've done in your own districts. Think back through all the years since the Dark Days…oppression, forced labor, starvation, torture, and of course…the Hunger Games. That's the freedom we had before the rebellion, and that's the freedom the Capitol and President Charles Hoyt will give us again if we surrender!"

The camera zoomed in until only Jane's face filled the broadcast, "President Hoyt tried to send us a message not too long ago. Well, I have a message for him. You can take everyone that we love. You can torture us and bomb us and raze every last inch of our districts to the ground. But, we will take you with us." The camera panned out, tracking to a flaming heap of twisted metal that used to be a hovercraft, a Capitol seal on its wing. Jane's voice echoed through the broadcast, "What you do to us, prepare to reap tenfold!" Flames devoured the image on the screen, block letters emerging through the fire: _IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US._

Everyone was silent and Jane slowly became aware that they were all staring at her, expectantly waiting for some kind of reaction. She looked up, her eyes meeting the stare of President Tamaro, a satisfied smirk on the woman's face. "Did they see it everywhere? Even in the Capitol?"

With that question, the smile on the President's face faded somewhat. Plutarch Heavensbee interjected, "No, not in the Capitol. Beetee couldn't override their security system. We're still working on it. But, they saw it everywhere else. Even in Districts 1 and 2!"

"Yes, well, be sure he continues to work on that. No doubt copies of the transmission were provided to Hoyt," Jane couldn't help but notice how the name of her presidential counterpart came out as a snarl whenever President Tamaro spoke, "But, we need to reach the people inside the Capitol; dissolve his support from within as well as from without." Tamaro's pacing brought her to a standstill behind Jane's chair, her hands reaching around to grasp Jane by the shoulders. "And next time," she reached up and ran her thumb down the tape that secured the bandage to Jane's brow, "do take greater care with our Mockingjay. Dismissed."

Everyone filed out, but Jane remained, standing and facing the President. She took hold of the ring on her finger and twisted it, a habit she realized she had picked up from Maura. "When is the rescue?"

"Plans take time," Tamaro replied with her standard answer.

"To hell with that!" Jane shouted. "I've agreed to be your Mockingjay! I've risked my life to film your propos and I'll do it again, but you're going to give me what you promised! You're going to get me my wife!" She could feel the hot flush ignite her skin as she yelled, could hear her voice crack as it grew louder and louder, and feel the sharp pain in her palms as her nails dug into her skin as she clenched her hands into fists. And through it all, Alma Tamaro stood stoic, unfazed by the outburst.

"Do you think we can just waltz right into the Capitol?" She spoke slowly and with calculation. "If we could do that, do you think we would have sat here idly all these years in desolate isolation? Do you think I would have expended all of my preciously scarce resources to pull you out of District 8? If I could just…waltz right into the Capitol as I pleased? Land my hovercraft smack in the middle of Charles Hoyt's flower garden. If I could do that, could have done that all along, why on earth would I put up with you?"

Jane felt the lump lodge in her throat and struggled to swallow it down as President Tamaro walked towards the door, "You…need me," she managed.

Tamaro stopped and turned, "Yes. And you need me. And the fact still remains, that plans of this magnitude take time."

* * *

Above ground and outside the immediate confines of the underground series of catacombs that was what remained of District 13, nature had tried to reassert itself. The immediate land over what had been the underground nuclear facility was still barren, wasted, grey and dusty…maybe it always would be, Jane thought. But, outside the fence sparse blades of grass poked through difficult soil and beckoned to be followed where they grew thicker and disappeared into woods.

Jo Friday spied a rabbit and bounded after it, her tiny legs scrabbling as fast as she could make them, though she still gaited with a noticeable limp from her injury.

"No! Jo Friday! Come!" Jane started after her, a flutter of panic swelling in her chest that the little dog would become lost, or worse, and then she would have nothing left of Maura's.

Tommy grabbed her arm and shook his head with a smile. _She never goes far, gets too tired and gives up._

They sat together on a jagged outcropping of rock under the mottled shade of some pine trees. A few short minutes lapsed and the ragged terrier crested the hill ahead of them, tongue lolling out from exertion, brambles and debris tangled in her fur as she trotted back to Jane. "Maybe in your younger days," Jane chuckled as she scooped her companion up and began to pick the burs and twigs from her coat.

_Told you_, Tommy signed.

"Wise guy," Jane jested, reaching out to pinch at her brother's ear and cheek as he swatted at her hands. "Lydia didn't want to join us today?"

_Not feeling well_.

Jane arched an eyebrow as her brother smiled, "Something you want to tell me, Tommy?"

He nodded, chuckling silently. _We're going to have a baby_.

"Shut up!" Jane slugged him in the arm playfully, "Are you serious?" He nodded again. "Does Ma know?"

_One look at my face after we found out and it was a full on interrogation_. _I wanted to tell you first but…you know Ma_. Tommy reached down and plucked a blade of grass from the ground, tearing it into tiny pieces and then scattering the green bits at his feet. _I hope it's a boy_.

"Tommy Junior," Jane smiled, squeezing her brother's shoulder. "So, I'm going to be an aunt…Congratulations baby brother."

Jo Friday heard the soldiers before they could see them, charging back in the direction from which they had come as Boggs and his men accompanied by Korsak appeared in the woods. Jane stood, the smile fading immediately from her face. There was only one reason they would have come for her out here. She could see the pain on Korsak's face as he walked towards her, accepting the role he always had. Jane was glad it was always him though, he never hid anything from her and he gave her strength when she didn't think there was any left within her.

"There's been another broadcast…" he said somberly.

_How bad?_ She couldn't make herself ask but her eyes telegraphed the fear behind the unspoken question.

Korsak reached for her arm and began to lead her back, "She's still…alive."

* * *

Only President Tamaro remained in the Command Center as Korsak led her in. The mere knowledge that she was about to see Maura in some kind of abused state made her feeble. The elder Victor and mentor wasn't used to seeing her this way. Jane Rizzoli had borne many reactions to her own suffering and losses over the years, she had withdrawn, been angry, self-destructive, but never feeble…not like she was now, when every image of Maura ripped away a little bit more of the last shred of life she was holding onto.

Korsak steadied her in anticipation of the shock he knew was to come as President Tamaro replayed the broadcast. Jane's intake of breath was audible, her body trembling, tears streaking unabashedly down her face. Caesar paraded her across the stage, a clear and explicit maneuver to highlight the physical agony she must have been in. No wounds or marks were visible, but underneath the Capitol grooming, Jane knew they were there.

Jane barely took notice of the opening banter, so focused was she on the image of Maura on the screen. Only when Korsak began to wrap his arms around her in a supportive embrace did she begin to listen.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her, to tell Jane?" Caesar asked.

"Yes," Maura spoke, her voice hoarse and cracking, eyes hollow and vacant as she looked into the camera. "You will be the destruction of humanity. How many more innocent people have to die? Because they will. Everything will burn. The Capitol. The districts. Every district. No one will be safe. No one. And when it's all burned to the ground, there won't be any need to rebuild, because there won't be anyone to rebuild for."

Jane fought to extricate herself from Korsak's confining grasp, twisting and turning and finally, when he refused to release her, pounding and punching him in the chest until she knocked the air from his lungs and dropped him to one knee. She ran, wishing that outside the door of the Command Center would be the darkened alleys of District 8, and that around the next turn would be the way to Sean Cavanaugh's where she could replace the pain in her heart with actual pain: blood and cuts and broken bones…that pain was easy.

President Tamaro extended her hand and helped Korsak to his feet, but he didn't release her hand as she tried to pull it away. "How long are you going to let this continue?" He asked. "They're suffering. Both of them. And they can't take much more. If Maura dies, you'll have nothing, do you understand that? What's left of Jane will die with her. No Mockingjay. No rebellion. No more of this bullshit, you get Maura here and into Jane's arms or this is over. No more propos, no more Mockingjay, no more aspirations of dethroning Hoyt and taking his place in a reunited Panem. If Maura dies, your dreams of the Presidency die too. Am I clear!?"

_Well played_. She hadn't expected such a speech by Vince Korsak. President Tamaro took in a slow breath and exhaled as she reached up to adjust a misplaced strand of hair, "Crystal."

* * *

Jane wandered the winding subterranean tunnels of District 13 for what seemed like hours. People passed by; some she knew from home, many were unfamiliar faces though. No one, not even those she recognized approached her. A few stopped and stared, mouths opening, hands beginning to reach out as if to ask if she were ok, perhaps to offer comfort. But, all caught themselves and shrank away as she stumbled by.

Every day, just when she thought she'd become a little bit numb to the pain, something happened – a random memory, a ghostly sensation, an errant comment, and the separation from and loss of Maura reignited, setting her insides on fire just like the first day when she'd awakened and been told that Maura was gone.

She found herself teetering in front of a compartment door, eyes swollen and blurred with tears to the point that she couldn't even be sure it was the right one. Raising her hand to the small numbers bolted into the door she traced them three times until she was sure it was the right one.

Constance Isles answered her knock, her own face red and wet from crying, "Oh, darling…" she reached out, pulling Jane into her compartment from the hallway and wrapping her arms tightly around her now shaking daughter-in-law.

"I wanted to be with someone who would really understand…" Jane sobbed, her upper body giving into Constance's embrace, her head resting heavily on the older woman's shoulder.

"Shhh," Constance soothed, as grateful for the contact and companionship as she knew Jane was. "You have to hold onto the belief that we'll get her back.

"We won't," Jane shook her head against Constance's neck, "We won't. He'll never let her go. President Tamaro knows there's no way…"

"Don't say that," Constance pushed Jane back and gripped her arms, looking intently into pain-filled eyes. "You have to believe."

Jane shook her again, "I'm going to turn myself over to the Capitol…"

"No!"

With a deep breath to bolster her resolve, Jane closed her eyes, "I failed her. I failed her in everything I promised. I won't let her die alone too. If I turn myself in, at least we'll be together."


	14. Deliverance

**CH 14: Deliverance**

Constance eased Jane down onto her bed, smoothing back her tangled hair and pulling the covers over her daughter-in-law. With no window, Constance's compartment seemed darker and more confined. The subtle illumination from the overhead lights appeared to wane, the room shrinking in and enveloping her. Jane fought the impending sleep; she needed to be up, finding a way out of District 13 and towards the Capitol to turn herself in. But, Constance kept threading her fingers through her hair and down her back, soothing and calming her with each stroke, and little by little Jane lost the desire to move. Planning and escape could wait another day.

"Why didn't you have your own child?" Jane mumbled, willing her eyes open for a few more moments.

The older woman sighed at first but then smiled. "We tried. After the second miscarriage, I didn't want to try anymore; it was hard just being around children for a long time knowing that I would never have one. But, in the end, Maura was meant to be our daughter. Hope died in our factory. When I saw that crying baby and heard that my factory had taken her mother away from her…I've never felt a heavier sense of responsibility in my life…until now. Maybe my fear of losing her like the others made me distant all those years, it's so terribly painful to lose a child. But, from the moment I held her for the first time, she was my daughter. Life takes us where we're supposed to be, even if points along the way may seem cruel or unbearable, I believe there's a reason for what happens to us."

Jane grimaced and reached up to wipe away new tears, "It's too much sometimes."

"I know," Constance took her hand and squeezed it, "it feels like that. I'll have faith for both of us right now."

Jane nodded, squeezing Constance's hand in turn as she finally allowed her eyes to close, welcoming the sleep that would hopefully give her a few hours reprieve from thoughts of what lay ahead: that when she made it to the Capitol, in all likelihood she would die, Maura would die, and Angela and Constance would both know again what it was like to lose a child.

The respite was short lived. A blaring alarm deafened them as the ear-splitting sound filled the room. Constance jumped, covering her ears. "What is it!?"

Together, they spilled out into the hallway with the rest of the people on Constance's compartment level. "It's the emergency evacuation alarm!" Jane shouted. "It means we're under attack!"

* * *

Jane clenched her jaw as they walked, following the citizens from District 13 through the hallway and then down flight after flight of stairs that took them even farther below ground: to the war bunker she'd heard President Tamaro and Boggs discuss when they bandied about speculation on a Capitol attack as if it was as commonplace as the evening dinner menu. No one seemed panicked, in fact, Jane found herself obsessively scanning the faces around her, looking for just one normal reaction…some sign of dismay. There wasn't any. They had probably been prepared for a moment like this all their lives, the time when the Capitol would return to finish what it had been unable to during the first rebellion.

Rotating slowly, Jane scanned the bunker as they entered. Natural, stone walls, rough and untouched in some places, while buttressed with steel and concrete in others surrounded them. The air was damp, noticeably chilly. Sleeping bunks were bolted into the walls all around the cavern, while signs directed the population to the back for the common kitchen, bathrooms, and medical station. The bunker couldn't have been part of the original military installation before the Dark Days, no, President Tamaro had ordered the construction of this place for just this occurrence…another war. Her ambition prepared them for any circumstance; Jane was once again struck by how much of a tool she had become, about how the rebellion had been reappropriated from her and Maura's original intent. Yet, as the missiles began to fall and shake the ground above them, she couldn't help but be thankful for the President's foresight.

The crowd swell swept them towards the check-in station where they were given their bunk assignments; Jane was relieved to find that her mother, Korsak, Tommy, and Lydia were already there.

"What's going on?" Angela pulled out from under Korsak's protective arm and rushed towards her.

"I don't know anymore than you do, Ma." She was the Mockingjay, and yet she never seemed to be given any real information. She was a figurehead, a symbol, and increasingly Jane felt the hollowness of the title.

Angela ran her fingers over the obvious tearstains on her daughter's puffy face, "Baby…"

"Not now, Ma," Jane turned her head and pushed her mother's hand away before the gesture brought more tears.

"Ok," Angela nodded, reaching out and taking Constance's hand as reassurance. "What do we do now?"

Jane looked around at the sea of bodies that filled the cavern as people hunted for their assigned open-air quarters. "We wait."

* * *

Bombs rained on what remained of District 13 above ground in periodic thunderstorms of destruction over the next three days. It didn't make much sense to Jane. There was hardly anything left above ground worth targeting. There was a particularly acute fear amongst the refugees from the other districts that the Capitol's firepower would break through into their subterranean shelter. The District 13 citizens seemed to have the same initial fear, though by and large they settled into a routine and overcame the concern much quicker than the others.

Except for Lydia. Each explosion, no matter the size as it rumbled down through layers of earth, vibrating shockwaves rolling through the cavern and its inhabitants in waves, caused her to jump with renewed fear. Between the clustered attacks she failed to quiet a nervous tremble that overtook her body. Lucius had given her medication to calm her nerves at first, but as it became obvious that nothing short of constant sedation would quell her fears he eased off with the drugs for fear of the fetal effects. A particularly powerful blast echoed through the bunker loosing fine rock dust and small pebbles from the stone ceiling and walls. Lydia shrieked, jumping up from her mattress on the floor and wrapping her arms protectively around her belly.

Jane wished that Tommy was there at that moment, but he was helping Angela prepare for the lunch service, so she stood and took the frightened woman gently by the arm and guided her to sit. She contemplated the technical approach; Maura would have done that. Maura would have explained that the explosive capacity of the Capitol's traditional bombs wasn't enough to penetrate that far into the earth, that short of a nuclear attack they were perfectly safe. It didn't sound as comforting as she thought it might as the explanation played out in her mind. Redirection, Jane settled on. "You're really starting to show," Jane smiled, watching as Lydia's hands instinctively settled on her stomach and began to rub in light circles. "How far along now?"

"Almost five months," she smiled in return. "Lucius says he can tell if it's a boy or a girl, but, I think I want to be surprised."

"There aren't a lot of surprises around here I guess," Jane reached out but stopped her hand.

"No, it's ok," Lydia guided Jane's tentative touch to her belly and held it tightly against her growing bump. "I feel little flutters right here a lot. Lucius says it won't be long before there are really noticeable movements…kicks."

"Sounds pleasant," Jane chuckled.

"Better than the morning sickness at the beginning," Lydia lifted her hands and let Jane withdraw hers.

"I bet Tommy Junior will be quite the active baby, if he's anything like his father…" A small impact struck overhead, a strange feeling, not like the other bombs. Jane wrapped her arms around Lydia and held her close as she looked up towards the ceiling. Maybe the Capitol was running out of its heavy artillery.

"It could be a girl…" Lydia whispered meekly into her neck.

"Guess you'll need a backup name then, I don't think Tommy Junior will work for a girl." It was good to see Lydia giggle, to watch her forget about the war above her even for just a moment. "You could always go with my middle name," Jane winked, "Clementine."

Lydia scrunched her nose and laughed as Jane laughed with her. "I haven't really thought about any girl names. We both want a boy; maybe if it's a girl we could call her Frankie, after your brother. Frankie could work for a girl too, don't you think?"

Jane's face grew somber, her arms slipping from around Lydia's shoulders, "There shouldn't be any more bombs for awhile. I'm going to go check on Ma. Try to get some rest."

_Francesca. Frankie_. "Stop it," Jane ordered herself under her breath, picking her way through the clumps of people towards the kitchen. In her grief over Maura's abduction, she'd essentially let herself forget their plans for the future, the baby girl with her unruly spirit and Maura's eyes. Now, figments of the daughter they had imagined together consumed her, they way she looked, the sound of her laugh, the feeling of wholeness at the sight of the child snuggled safely asleep in Maura's arms as Jane sang to her.

"Jane!"

The image of the child faded from focus behind her closed eyes as she heard Korsak calling out her name. She turned to see him running towards her, chest tightening, he never seemed to bring good news. But, as he got closer, his face didn't have the same look of tortured dismay as it had on the other occasions. He reached her, grabbing her gruffly by the wrists, "We've got her! We've got her!"

She was speechless, staring at her mentor and friend as the words crashed into her with numbing force, "Maura…?"

Korsak nodded, pulling her with him as he barreled towards the bunker's only entrance and exit, "I didn't know. I had no idea they were planning to do it. When the attack began, President Tamaro sent a counterstrike and rescue force that was stationed in secret in District 11 to the Capitol. She's been letting them bomb us without countermeasures these past few days to keep them occupied, now we're taking them out and the rescue force is en route back."

Boggs and a team of soldiers awaited them at the bunker door, pushing back the curious onlookers that had begun to congregate so he could usher Jane, Korsak, and Constance, who was already there, through.

"When!?" Jane asked with desperation, reaching out to grab a fistful of the front of Boggs's uniform, "When will she be here!?"

He led Jane out of the bunker and towards the stairs, "In a couple of hours."

* * *

They were sequestered in a room on the same floor as the medical wing. The previous three days without sleep seemed inconsequential as Jane paced the room obsessively. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but the wait was excruciating. The door opened and Jane bolted for it, only it wasn't Boggs or Lucius coming to get her, but a soldier pushing Finnick Odair into the room with them. He looked like how Jane imagined she looked, desperate, afraid…hopeful.

"They got her too?" She asked, reaching for his hand.

He nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. Through everything, Finnick had been a stoic confidant, the only other person who could possibly understand. The Capitol had the love of his life too. And now, they were both getting them back. "My Annie," he murmured as the unabashed tears trickled down his cheeks. "I…I didn't really think we'd ever see them again. I thought we'd both go mad before that ever happened."

Jane couldn't help the chuckle; it was wildly inappropriate but a much needed moment of levity as she thought about his words. The very act of laughing seemed to lift some of the asphyxiating weight from her chest. "Are you sure we didn't go mad?"

Finnick smiled back, a small laugh escaping his own lips, "I guess…I guess we did, a little." He paused and then winked, "Maybe you more than me."

She laughed again but it was cut short by the opening of the door behind them; Boggs motioned for them and the clamp returned inside her chest. Soldiers pulled Finnick away and down a different hallway as Boggs led her forward, Constance and Korsak following closely behind. Jane's heart pounded wildly in her chest, fearful of what she would see, if she would even be able to gather Maura up in her arms without hurting her. There was no telling what further torture Hoyt had subjected her to since the last broadcast. As long as she could feel some small part of Maura's skin against her own, she knew she could hold on as Maura healed.

"No," Lucius emerged from one of the rooms and advanced briskly towards them, shaking his head and waving his arms. "Not now, take her back!" He said more sternly as he pointed down the hallway.

Jane pushed Boggs forcefully out of the way and ran towards the doctor, "Where is she!?"

"You can't see her!" Lucius grabbed her shoulders and struggled to hold her back. "Jane! You can't…" he paused, shaking her until she looked him in the eye, "…you shouldn't see her right now." His voice shook as he said it and the look of terrible sadness was apparent in his eyes as he spoke, but the words didn't register.

She fought against his restraint, "Get out of my way, Lucius!" She struggled harder, breaking his grasp on her and slamming him into the wall as she pushed past.

A semi-circle of District 13 doctors parted when they heard her enter.

Maura sat on a gurney, frail, bruised legs dangling over the edge. The paper gown they had clothed her in hung loosely off one bony shoulder, revealing more bruises that clawed like phantom fingers up her neck. She stared ahead vacantly, taking no notice of the other woman who had entered the room.

"Maura…" Jane called out to her softly, slowly walking forward, hands trembling as she reached for her wife.

"You…" Maura whispered as her head turned towards the sound of her name. The sinewy tendons in her legs, arms, and neck tensed as her body trembled at the sight of Jane. "You…" she repeated louder as Jane closed within a step. And then she sprang from the bed, hands closing around Jane's throat as she knocked her to the floor and straddled her. Her fingers tightened, squeezing until Jane couldn't even manage a sound as she fought for air, her face contorted with hatred as she channeled what little energy she had into the grip around the neck of the body underneath her. "YOU!" She bellowed, lifting Jane by the neck and slamming her head into the floor once before the doctors pulled her screaming back to the gurney, the overhead light glinting off a syringe before it disappeared and Jane saw her flailing body go limp.

Jane gasped for breath, unable to resist as Lucius wrapped his arms around her, lifted and dragged her from the room. "Please," she sobbed. "Please…"

* * *

No one emerged from the room for hours. Jane had paced back and forth the length of the hallway until she was too exhausted to stand any longer. Weary, and completely drained, she stumbled into the wall by the exam room door and slid down it until she came to rest on the floor. Korsak and Constance had given up trying to comfort her, they'd sent for Angela down in the bunker but Jane refused to be touched by anyone. They had left now, except for Constance, who kept vigil in the hallway waiting to see if she would be allowed into the room.

The door cracked, but Jane didn't stir, knowing that it wouldn't be her they allowed in. Lucius called for Constance, pausing to look down at Jane on the floor, his kind blue eyes heavy with apology. She was only inside for minutes before the screaming and sounds of struggle began again. Jane buried her face in her hands as hot tears filled her palms. There was no need to look up as she heard the door open. Constance was shoved out into the hallway sobbing. Kneeling next to her daughter-in-law she tried to pull Jane's hands away from her face, to fold her into an embrace and hold her close, as much for her own comfort as for the sake of the tortured woman on the floor in front of her.

"Stop," Jane growled, trying to push the older woman away, "Leave me alone!" Her efforts to repel the gesture were futile, her body and mind too weak to resist. Constance wrapped her arms around her and held her as they both cried. "What did he do to her?" Jane murmured through choking tears that set her body to shaking.

Constance just held her tighter in reply.

* * *

She couldn't leave. An invisible force held her there, glued to the wall and floor outside the exam room. Constance had stayed for a while, but Angela and Korsak had eventually convinced her to come get dinner, and she hadn't returned. They knew it would be pointless to try and convincer her to come with them, so they hadn't even asked. Jane wondered if Maura's mother was breaking worse than her; she had been so hopeful that her daughter would be returned to them unscathed. Jane knew Charles Hoyt; she had known better. Yet, it was a shock even she wasn't entirely prepared for. Maura had tried to kill her.

"Jane…"

Her eyes fluttered open reluctantly. She was tired of hearing her name; it never brought good news. Lucius sat in front of her on the floor and held a cup of water with a straw to her lips. The grief had made her forget every other feeling in her body: hunger, thirst…the sight of the water made it all starkly apparent. She let him feed the straw between her lips and sucked the cool liquid down in several long gulps, but still she felt parched and empty.

"I'm sorry," he began, "If I'd known from the start the full extend of what had been done to her…I wouldn't have let you in to see her."

"As if you could have stopped me," Jane countered. She watched his eyes, those eyes that had been the only kindness she saw in the hospital after her first Games. Whatever was in the room behind them had broken him too; his eyes had dulled, there was only sorrow and helplessness looking back at her now. "What did he do to her?" She knew she had to know, even if it did exactly what Hoyt intended it to…even if it utterly destroyed her.

"It's called hijacking." Lucius paused and brought his hand to his forehead and massaged at the tired and strained wrinkles that had beset his face. "It's a cocktail of drugs and small amounts of Tracker Jacker venom. Injected directly into the bloodstream it causes hallucination, paranoia, it acts as a truth serum of sorts, but it…" there was no way to soften the blow, "…it allows the patient's memories to be distorted, to be reprogrammed, entirely new memories of things that never really happened can be created and suggested and the patient thinks they're real."

It was worse than she could have imagined, the explanation left her dizzy and disoriented. "He's turned her against me," Jane choked, "made her hate me."

"Everyone," Lucius put his hand on her shoulder, a useless touch, there was nothing he could offer that could possibly temper the blow that he was dealing, "everyone that meant anything to her. But, yes, especially you."

"But, you know what this hijacking is…you can fix it? Reverse it?" Jane immediately hated the hope that flickered inside her.

"It's not a tactic that was ever employed with the intent to be reversed, but I'm going to try. I'm going to do everything in my power to undue the damage he's done." Lucius stood and helped Jane to her feet. "I need you to hang on. I know that's a lot to ask. I need you to trust me and hang on. I have no idea if it can be done but I will not rest until every possible scientific and medical avenue has been exhausted."

Jane placed her hand on the wall and closed her eyes, "She's right on the other side of this, and she's the farthest away she's ever been."

The last revelation he debated withholding. In his years of medical experience he knew there was only so much a person could take. Physical pain, psychological pain, the body could withstand a great deal, but it was breakable. Jane had become exceptional to him as he got to know her since fleeing the Capitol. She deserved to know everything he knew, as soon as he knew it, no matter the consequences. "I've sedated her for the night. You can stay with her until the morning and she won't wake up. But, there's one more thing and I feel obligated to tell you, I want it to come from me now because I know it now. You will always be the first person to know everything that I know."

Tears welled in her eyes. _Please. Please don't say it…_ But she couldn't force herself to absolve him of making the disclosure aloud.

"Jane," he reached for her hand, "Maura's pregnant."

Lucius caught her as her legs gave out, "No no no no no…" she sobbed in a near scream into his neck.

"Listen to me, listen to me!" He struggled to hoist her back to her feet, "I'm running more tests. Hold on for me until the morning, Jane. Just hold on."


	15. Memories

**CH 15: Memories**

The overhead lights in the room had been dimmed, but a soft bedside lamp glowed and lighted Jane's way to Maura. She walked cautiously to her wife's side, remembering the violent reaction Maura had upon first seeing her. But, Maura didn't so much as stir.

"This is all my fault," Jane whispered, running one finger across Maura's hand and lightly along the inside of her arm. "I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to keep you safe." Gently she lifted Maura's hand and enclosed it in her own as she sat on the side of the bed. "It should have been me he did this to." She tightened her grip, holding Maura's hand to her chest. "It should have been me."

Jane peeled the sheet down from Maura's body, wincing at the patterned bruises that wound up each of her legs and disappeared under the hospital gown. "I'll make him pay," she promised, covering Maura to hide the visible evidence of Hoyt's torture, it was hard enough knowing the marks were there, without having to see them. "Even if you hate me from now on; I'm still going to make him pay."

"Dammit!" Jane growled, rising and locking her fingers behind her head as she paced to the far end of the room and back. It was never supposed to have been like this. She was supposed to have died in the Games and Maura was supposed to live. But, they had both lived, and Jane had fooled herself into believing that there could be happiness, that she deserved it…that he would let her have it. And the delusion had cost Maura most of all.

Sitting down again on the side of the bed, she reached for a dull, brittle chunk of hair that had fallen across Maura's cheek and pushed it back. Some of the hair broke off from the gesture. Jane ran the strands through her fingers, tugging lightly, watching as they snapped into smaller and smaller pieces. She could remember what Maura's hair felt like before, like soft silk melting though her grasp as they made love, tickling across her neck and down her body as Maura kissed her. Jane leaned forward and cupped Maura's gaunt face in her hands, her skin was ashen and dry, dark circles under her eyes, and her lips were ghostly pale and cracked. But despite all that, she was still Maura.

"I'm sorry," Jane murmured, lowering her lips to her wife's and kissing her. She felt Maura twitch and hum softly and pulled back with a start, but she didn't wake. Jane sat for a moment, still, except for the slight caress of her thumbs across Maura's cheeks. Leaning down again, she kissed her a second time, wishing that the mouth under hers would respond and kiss her back, but it didn't. "I love you," she whispered into Maura's lips, "even if you can't remember that I do. Even if you don't love me back. I love you. Even more than before, because you suffered through all of this for me."

She was wary at first, but she'd gone too long without Maura in her arms, and Jane realized that being deep in slumber from Lucius's sedatives might be the only way. She tried to ignore the thought that it might be the only way from now on; that she would only ever hold Maura again while she was unconscious. That sight of her tomorrow and the next day, and possibly weeks, months, maybe even years from now would only disgust and enrage the woman that had once sought out the comfort of her skin and touch. She eased onto the bed alongside her and threaded one arm delicately under her head, wrapping the other around her body and pulling her in close. Jane took a deep breath and quelled the tears; Maura felt so light, every bone prominent as she ran her hand along her ribs and over her hip before snaking it further around to stroke her back.

Jane snuggled tightly against her, positioning her lips right by the sleeping woman's ear, "Remember the story I told you about the first time I ever saw you? Our first day of school, and you were wearing that blue dress with the ruffled skirt and the little white collar? I never told you about that afternoon when I got home." Jane smiled, pausing to press her lips against Maura's temple in a tender kiss. "All the teachers gave that homework assignment…to do a drawing of our favorite thing about the first day of school. You probably drew your books," Jane chuckled as she thought about it, lifting her head to look down at Maura for a second as she ran the backs of her fingers in repetitive circles across her cheek. "I drew you. And Ma came in the kitchen where I was working on it and asked if the picture was of a new friend I had made. I nodded, even though I had no idea what your name was, I didn't even look up from the drawing…I was coloring in your dress, and I told her you were my new girlfriend."

The memory made Jane smile for a moment, how she'd known Maura was the one all along.

Tightening her embrace around Maura's limp body, Jane sighed and closed her eyes, "Remember that I love you…that I always have. Remember."

* * *

For years, Lucius Black had thought he was the only person in the Capitol that ever questioned Charles Hoyt's actions. But then, most of the Capitol didn't know President Hoyt as he knew him. Jane Rizzoli had made him question those actions for the first time, his first Games as head surgeon for the Hunger Games Victor was her first Games. He'd watched as the nobody from District 8 fought smarter and harder than anyone he could recall in recent memory to live, and then he'd seen firsthand what Hoyt had done in the hospital afterwards. Years later, he still lived with the shame that it took him so long to take a stand. He owed them all, the Capitol owed them all for what it had done, but especially Jane. And he owed her specifically, because he'd been a bystander to her assault at Charles Hoyt's hands, and because he'd followed orders eighteen years ago that had immeasurably complicated the situation before them now.

He gripped Jane lightly by the shoulder and shook her awake, "It's morning," he said as she looked up at him, "she'll be waking up soon."

Jane carefully extricated herself from her embrace of Maura, tucked the covers in snuggly around her and placed a lingering and apologetic kiss on her forehead. "What now?"

"I'm devising a treatment regimen, a combination of drugs to try and break down the residual poison in her system as well as psychological approaches we can pursue to navigate the memory reprogramming…"

She couldn't hide her skepticism as she listened to him talk, "But you don't know if it will work."

Lucius shook his head, "I have no idea if it will work. But, we're going to try."

"I can spend the nights here? With her?" Jane asked, the look of distress and sadness on her face was haunting.

"As long as we're sedating her, yes. But, I can't sedate her with the narcotic strength we used yesterday forever Jane, and anything less powerful will leave her susceptible to periodic awakenings. A few days at the most. The heavy drugs pose too many fetal risks with extended use."

_Fetal risks_. She'd actively tried to forget about the pregnancy during the night. Jane brought her hands to her face and rubbed at the tears in her eyes.

"My test results on the pregnancy came back," Lucius stepped forward and took Jane by the wrists and pulled her hands down, "I ran them multiple times to be sure. She's _**your**_ baby, Jane."

_My_… "What?" Jane tried to pull her hands away from her friend as she looked past him at Maura's stirring body. "That's not possible."

"Your first Games…" Lucius took a deep breath, "…all those days you were unconscious after your victory, before he…"

"Don't!" Jane struggled harder but Lucius held her tightly.

"He ordered me to take biological samples. Hair. Blood….some of your eggs. He had it done to all of the Victors. She's your baby Jane. He probably kept the eggs preserved all these years. It's possible in the Capitol; the procedure is fairly simple. Extraction of the genetic material from one woman's egg and the use of a neutral dummy sperm to deliver it to and fertilize the second woman's egg…"

Jane froze as the realization set in, "My baby…" she whispered. Behind them Maura groaned, her arms beginning to thrash as she fought the lingering and disorientating haze from the drugs. "Our baby." She looked at Lucius, wide-eyed and deeply concerned, "You can't tell her! She hates me, if she knows she's pregnant…and by me…you can't tell her, Lucius…please!" If Maura were to find out now, Jane knew she would lose them both.

"I won't. For as long as possible," he looked over his shoulder and began to push Jane towards the door, "I can't keep it from her for long. She's almost four weeks along, she will notice sooner or later."

The door began to shut in front of her as Lucius pushed her into the hallway, but Jane caught it with her hand, blue eyes staring back at her from the crack, "And if your treatments don't work, when she realizes she's pregnant, what then?"

"I don't know," Lucius answered honestly, shutting the door.

* * *

Dust still hung thick in the air from the Capitol attack. Though it was midday by now, the world outside the tiny compartment window was still dark and shadowed by smoke. Jane had been surprised the slightly above ground segments of District 13 had survived, but the subterranean catacombs wound all throughout the District, the Capitol would have had no way to know where to bomb in order to strike a direct and damaging hit. The ground shock from the closest bombs had caused a small crack in the glass of her window, but it had held.

She hadn't bothered to close her door, no one else had returned to her compartment level, so Patrick Doyle didn't bother to knock, brazenly entering and taking a seat next to Jane on her bed.

"Thought you might be here, but President Tamaro doesn't want the uppermost levels occupied just yet, in case of another attack," Doyle's eyes fell to Jane's hands, where she held her wedding ring in her fingers, turning it end over end.

"President Tamaro can go to hell," Jane mumbled, avoiding Doyle's gaze and looking towards the window once again.

"She orchestrated Maura's rescue. And Annie Crespa's. And they had Johanna Mason, the Victor from District 7, too."

"Too late," Jane replied, looking back towards the ring in her fingers for a second before she slipped it back on. She paused, closed her eyes and saw Maura lunging at her, felt cold hands wrap around her throat. Gasping for a breath of air she tried to shake it off, but it seemed to be the only thing she saw when she closed her eyes. "Are they…are they like Maura?"

"No," Doyle replied, "Malnourished, beaten, God knows what else, but not like Maura."

"Lucky for them," Jane whispered, "and Finnick. Hijacking, you ever heard of it when you were in the Capitol?"

Doyle sighed and shook his head, "No. It doesn't surprise me though."

"She's pregnant," Jane finally turned to look him in the eye and for the first time since she had known Patrick Doyle, she saw a look of genuine surprise mixed with shock. "She's mine. Lucius ran tests; he said Hoyt harvested some of my eggs after the first Games. They have a procedure in the Capitol, and now she's pregnant with our baby and she doesn't even know it. She can't know."

Doyle pulled Jane into his arms in a crushing embrace, a new bout of anger and disgust burning inside him as Jane sobbed and continued to mumble into his shoulder, "I've been sitting here for hours trying to understand why."

"Charles Hoyt is the simplest man in the world to understand," Doyle finally responded, pushing Jane back out of his arms and steadying her by the shoulders, "everything he does is motivated by one singular drive – to cause as much pain as possible. He did it to destroy you, because if it was his baby President Tamaro would have ordered it destroyed and Maura, maybe even you, would have been none the wiser. But it's yours, and she has to carry the child of the person she hates most in the world right now, and you have to watch. And it's entertainment to him, just knowing what it's doing to you, what it will do to both of you, even if he can't be here to see it."

The words cut so deeply she wished he hadn't said them, hated him in that moment for saying them. But, Doyle's assessment was right and Jane knew it, knew that Charles Hoyt's greatest pleasure was to hurt people, especially her, and the moment they had gone on air with Caesar Flickerman and talked about the family they hoped to have one day, they had put the weapon of their own destruction in his hands. Jane glanced down at her ring again, "He let us rescue her."

Doyle nodded, "Whether she killed you, like she tried to, or not, either way in his mind he wins. Destroy the Mockingjay, destroy the foundation of the rebellion. What happens to Maura is out of your hands. The question is, was he right? Does Charles Hoyt win?"

* * *

"Do you remember me?" Lucius shined the small flashlight in Maura's eyes back and forth, checking her pupils' response to the light.

"Yes," she answered, blinking rapidly when the light was withdrawn. "Your name is Lucius. You're a doctor."

"That's right," he said with a soft smile. "How do you remember me?"

That question caused her difficulty, Maura sucked her lower lip between her teeth, as her brow furrowed in thought, "I…I'm not sure."

Lucius took hold of her arm gently and turned it over, exposing the injection port, he reached for a capped syringe in his pocket and moved to insert it.

"No!" Maura shrieked, wrenching her arm away from him and struggling to free herself as he grabbed her arm again. "NO!"

Lucius wrapped his arms around her as she fought and screamed, holding her tightly until her strength was sapped and her body became compliant in his embrace. "Listen to me Maura, I'm here to help you. I'm not going to hurt you. No one's going to hurt you, do you understand? You're not in the Capitol anymore. President Hoyt isn't here. Tell me," he let her go and again stepped in front of her, "tell me why the shot scares you?"

Her body trembled as her eyes focused on the top of the syringe peeking out from his coat pocket, "It burns…like fire. Every time, worse than before."

"What color was it, the medicine that burned?" Lucius waited, watching as she closed her eyes to think.

"Green."

Slowly, he again removed the clear, liquid-filled syringe from his pocket, thumping the side with his finger, "This is not Tracker Jacker venom, Maura, no one's ever going to hurt you with that again, ok?" He waited, allowing her time to process his assurance. Hesitantly, she extended her arm and allowed him to administer the injection.

Maura watched as he wrapped a small bandage around her arm to cover the port, the effortless movements of his hands, the clear blue color of his eyes when he glanced towards her. "You…you were teaching me to be a real doctor. We…" it was coming back slowly, but Maura fought to bring the memory to the surface, "we had a clinic."

"Good," he smiled, "where was our clinic?"

"District 8." Maura paused, what little color she had in her face draining as she clenched her stomach, "Am I supposed to feel nauseous?"

"Easy…easy…" Lucius caught her and rendered support as Maura leaned over and vomited on the floor. "The shot I just gave you is going to help break down the Tracker Jacker poison in your system…it…" he knew he had to lie, "…might make you a little queasy. I'll get you something for the nausea."

Lucius helped her ease back in the bed and covered her. He was at the door when she spoke, "You came to District 8 from the Capitol."

He stopped and walked back to her, "That's right. I was a doctor in the Capitol, for the Games. I saved Jane's…"

_Jane_. Maura sat up quickly, striking out at him and scratching his face before he could respond, "Don't you say her name! She did this to me! She did this!"

Lucius grabbed her wrists to keep her from hitting him again, waiting until out of breath, Maura collapsed back against the pillow. "I know that's what you think, that that's what you think you remember. Jane has been here in District 13 with me, with your mother, with the other refugees since you were taken. Jane didn't do this to you Maura, Charles Hoyt did."

"Liar," Maura seethed. "Liar!" She screamed again, rolling away from him and burying her face in her pillow as she cried.

"Maura," Lucius remained calm, leaning down and whispering to her despite her attempt to cover her ears. "In the broadcasts from the Capitol, why did you plead for Jane to stop the rebellion and turn herself in if she was already there? Why would you ask for that if Jane was in the Capitol?"

* * *

Jane walked into the Command Center and stood at the head of the table, watching as President Tamaro and Boggs poured over the screens on the digital display. Other than a cursory glance over her shoulder when she first entered, the President didn't acknowledge her, running through orders to Boggs for the next twenty minutes.

"No one will tell me what it was like…when they found her," Jane said as Boggs made to walk by her.

He stopped, shoulder to shoulder and looked at her, though Jane stared straight ahead at the President, "Sometimes, it's best there are things we don't know."

When she heard the click of the door behind her, she knew that he was gone, that it was only herself and Alma Tamaro in the room. The President seemed no different than she had before the bombing, before the rescue; it was as if she was completely unmoved by the events of the past few days.

"You wanted to speak to me I presume?" Alma Tamaro had a way about her, a way of belittling and chastising someone in the fewest words possible. A way to remind someone of their breach of protocol, of etiquette, without ever having to expound on the nature of the offense.

"I think you should send me out into the districts to film more propos," Jane replied, cutting to the chase.

That made the President smile. "It pleases me to see we're on the same page."

"I have conditions," Jane approached the older woman within an arm's length.

"Of course you do."

"No more keeping me in the dark. I'm not a pawn, some game piece you move and plop down where you will. I want to be a part of the plans, of the strategizing. I want to know what you and Boggs know when you know it. I realize I'm just some means to an end for you; I'm not stupid. And I don't care that you're using me. I'm using you too. You were the means to my end: freedom. For me, for my family, for my friends, for my district, for all of Panem. I want the Capitol to fall and I want to show the people it's possible."

A smirk spread across President Tamaro's face, "You have your wife back now, so you think you can walk in here and dictate military strategy to me, is that it?"

Jane steadied herself, concentrating hard on keeping any obvious emotion from breaking the steel-eyed stare she kept on the woman in front of her, "Maura is here, but I don't have her back. And I'm not dictating military strategy to you; I'm telling you what you already know, you need me to win this rebellion. And you need me afterwards," now, Jane smiled slyly, "when you're looking for an endorsement as the new President…of Panem. And the sooner you bring me into the fold, the sooner _**we**_ win, and the sooner this is all over and I just fade away into the background."

Alma Tamaro reached out and grasped Jane firmly by the chin, "It's a shame really, that you weren't born here in District 13. All these years I would have had to groom you as my successor. We're alike, you and I, whether you want to admit it or not." She chuckled, their eyes never breaking from one another, "Consider it done."

"One more thing," Jane watched as the President arched one eyebrow, "When it's all over. I kill Hoyt."

President Tamaro's eyes dimmed, half-lidded as her face tightened, she leaned in close to Jane's face, "I'll flip you for it."

* * *

There were no pets in District 13, and the children had been so enamored with Jo Friday while they were all sequestered in the bunker they had chipped in scraps of old cloth and tattered clothing to stitch together and stuff her a bed. Jane set the bed down and the little dog on top of it on the floor next to Maura's bed before climbing in alongside her sedated wife.

"Shh!" She said quietly, looking over her shoulder and shaming the whining terrier into climbing back atop her pillow and lying down.

Jane struggled to remain perfectly still for several minutes, just to be sure that Maura wouldn't wake, but her desire to be closer overcame her fear of the drugs wearing off. She scooted in close behind Maura, sweeping her hair aside so she could place a string of kisses along her neck.

"I remember the first time I came to you to patch me up. You kept telling me that no one really came to you for stitches, and I kept telling you that I didn't care. Your hands were shaking you were so nervous, asking over and over again if you were hurting me. I kept telling you no; it was the truth. Every time you touched me that night to run the suture through, all I felt was how soft your skin was and how it made me feel inside to have your hands on me. I never felt the needle. You never hurt me, not once. And I know, right now your world is really messed up, but I've never hurt you. I would never hurt you."

Jane wrapped her arm under Maura's neck and around her chest as her other slipped under the covers and the hospital gown, caressing up the outside of Maura's thigh, over her hip, and coming to rest on her stomach. She rubbed small circles over the spot that she knew would grow in the coming months. "We were going to name her Francesca, remember? Our daughter. We started all of this for her, and I'm going to finish it for the both of you."

Closing her eyes, Jane felt a single tear carve down the inside of her nose, and drip off where her lips were pressed into Maura's neck. "I need you to remember all of that. I need you to remember that I love you."


	16. Pieces

**CH 16: Pieces**

She could tell the drugs were different; waking was easier. It was both a blessing and a curse. The nightmares consumed her sleep, tortured her, brought her to the precipice of waking before releasing their grip, or being forced to let go; it confusing feeling. She could remember them now, on these lighter drugs. It had been fire last night. A solitary building engulfed in molten flames and when it collapsed…the starkest feeling of loss. And through the conflagration a child's voice, reminiscent of her own cried out "Mother." Her skin felt hot and tingled when she woke. But, each time something soothed her back to sleep before she gained full awareness. Touch. There was strength but also comfort in the feeling that swaddled her each time her eyes nearly flew open in the darkness. Through the haze of the drugs, fear, and half-sleep it felt like an embrace, tightening around her, soothing breaths shushing across her neck, and gentle kisses that caressed her skin and vanquished the burning. She was imagining it all, she concluded. Perhaps she was on the brink of insanity, but it didn't seem to matter, she slept. Though not the best sleep, it felt like progress of a sort.

When morning came the narcotic hangover was less; her eyes opened and focused quickly on the room around her, her ears registering sound immediately. Not like before. Not like the past days when waking had been a fight to crawl back into her own body. Dissociative. Two distinct parts of herself: body and mind. That feeling had been almost worse than the nightmares. But, now, she awoke whole. The presence she had felt during the night gone; Maura chalked it up to a figment of her subconscious. The only thing that hadn't lessened with the new drugs was the nausea. It gripped her each morning and periodically throughout the day. She slipped quickly out of bed and crouched on the floor next to the waste can and retched.

Maura jumped as something nudged her arm, "Jo? Josephine!" The little dog overcame its own startle and jumped into outstretched arms, overcome with joy at the reunion as she twisted and shook in a full-body wag licking frantically at Maura's face.

"That's a welcome sight."

Maura looked up to see that Lucius was there, his expected morning round to check on her. "I'm sure you've seen her before today."

"Yes," he chuckled, "frequently. I was talking about you, though. Smiling."

Maura ran her fingers through scruffy fur, stopping to scratch behind one of Jo's ears, letting a light giggle slip out as the terrier closed her eyes and leaned into the gesture, insisting silently for more. "I…I don't know…I suppose I thought she was dead."

Lucius helped her back to her feet and guided her to sit on the bed, "Why? Why would you assume she was dead?"

Explosions. Deafening explosions filled her mind as she closed her eyes. The choking smell of smoke and burning in the air. Everything around her seemed to be collapsing in on her, trying to bury her, but she stayed one step ahead of the crushing bricks as they fell.

Maura opened her eyes, "We left her. When the Capitol attacked. We left her behind." She held Jo closer to her chest, pressing her face near the dog's ear and whispering, "I'm sorry."

"We?" Lucius replied casually as he performed his morning examination. He felt her tense under his touch.

"All of us." Her smile faded and she looked past him as he administered an injection. "You were there."

"In a manner of speaking," he nodded. "I was down in the projects when the bombs hit, remember?"

Vaguely. She remembered the world falling apart around her, screaming, running, people dying. Details. The details seemed slow to return. Cayden Crawford. John Martell. _FATHER!_ Blood. Reaching for him and something taking her, her hand slipping free of Jane's hand. "She let them take me."

"They shot her," Lucius corrected. "She almost died. And she cried for you, screamed for days…for you. Everyone thought it was the pain from the wound, because I didn't have any supplies to treat it. But it wasn't from the gunshot. Her heart was broken. She thought she'd lost you and she nearly let it kill her. She sent Doyle back to the Victor's Village to find Jo. I think having that dog saved her, because she felt like she had a piece of you to hang onto."

"Stop it…" Maura murmured, tears welling behind her eyes.

But, he didn't stop. He stood in front of her, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Jo's leg was broken…when you first found her. Who helped you set it?"

"Stop…" Maura shook her head in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. _The little animal was dingy and dirty, with matted fur caked with blood in places. Yet, she wagged her tail as Jane took her in her arms, a smile gracing her lips despite her protestations of not keeping the dog. "You're amazing, you know that?" Jane's voice. Praising her work. And then those rough and skeptical hands had tenderly washed the little street urchin off and set her up on a mound of blankets_

Maura sucked in a breath of air, closing her eyes again. Jane was naked in bed beside her, Jo Friday drawing her unceremoniously from slumber with an assault of wet licks to her mouth and nose. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, tears streaking down her face as her eyes met Lucius's.

"Tell me, Maura. Tell me what you're remembering," he prodded, hands still cupped firmly around her face.

"It's not real," she said breathily. "You're making me see things that aren't real."

"What things!?"

"Jane!" She screamed. "Lying in bed with Jane and Jo. Her…her skin…" her voice began to crack and then trailed off as the words came free, "touching her…"

Lucius shook her lightly until she looked at him again, "How are those lies Maura? How are those memories the ones that aren't real? When Charles Hoyt…when the Capitol never knew you and Jane had taken in a dog to begin with."

"STOP IT!" Maura shrieked, the dissonance of competing memories overwhelming her, as she collapsed forward into Lucius's arms sobbing and striking him with all of her strength.

* * *

Jane had seen enough weapons of destruction in her life. She loathed them, couldn't hold one, no matter the type without seeing it stained red. So, the first time Beetee, the rescued Victor from District 3, handed her the rifle he had modified she had resisted taking it. But, he hadn't budged, staring at her through his spectacles, the rifle outstretched.

"_She's not ready, Volts,"_ _Riley Cooper had jabbed_. The other Victors had taken to calling him that, Volts, because of his prowess with electronics and as President Tamaro and the soldiers from District 13 had discovered…his ability to modify and perfect weaponry. Riley in particular amongst the Victors enjoyed the weapons training and had become Beetee's assistant with some of the technical modifications. _"It feels…normal. Close enough to mechanics to seem like home." _ Jane didn't believe that that was the reason Riley had taken to the weapons. District 13 had hovercraft that needed maintenance. Riley, Finnick, and Johanna Mason, who had been rescued with Maura, they took to Beetee's creations for one reason: to learn to use the tools of their revenge.

Though Finnick seemed to understand her, a noticeable tension had arisen between herself, Riley, and Johanna. Jane couldn't help but feel that she wasn't what they had expected, what they had risked their lives to support. Johanna in particular; her eyes were often consumed with that same searing blank hatred that Jane had seen in Maura's eyes after the rescue. Of course, Johanna had been tortured too. And in the days since her release from the infirmary, she spent almost every waking hour in Beetee's weapons lab or outside joining the District 13 soldiers and new recruits in physical training. But, in the fair-skinned brunette from District 7, Jane saw a picture of what she could have been, what Charles Hoyt had almost made her be. She didn't want to see more blood on her hands, as the young woman that screamed at the top of her lungs as she fired at the target on the lane next to her did. It was an unfortunate necessity, that more people would die and Jane had begrudgingly accepted that burden.

"_You can't take a knife to a gun fight,"_ _Beetee had said, twitching in that way that he did, almost nervous-like but with such frequency even when not speaking to anyone that made Jane wonder if he hadn't taken one too many electric shocks from his work_.

He was right. So, she had taken the rifle. It had been heavy at first, awkward, and cumbersome. The grip felt too large for her hand and her arms grew weary quickly from holding it. A perpetual soreness had settled into her shoulder from the kickback though it did seem to be fading slightly the more she practiced.

"You're getting good with that!" Lucius shouted above the noise in the gun range.

Jane looked over her shoulder and set the weapon down, following Lucius out into the hallway where they could talk. She shed her ear and eye protection, blinked a few times and popped her ears, "I umm…figured throwing knives wouldn't be much use against Capitol troops."

"No, no I don't suppose they would," he tried to force a smile, but knew that in reality it came across as disingenuous.

"You still don't want me to go…"

Lucius nodded, "I feel like to a large degree, it's my fault that you are going…because, because I haven't been able to fix her."

It was true. If Maura had come back…Maura, Jane had no doubt that she wouldn't be going off to lead the rebels in more propos. "I need to do this," she responded. "And it's not your fault. You're my friend, Lucius, and I trust that you're doing everything you can to help her. How is it going?"

Slowly, he thought. "Medically, her improvement is significant. The Tracker Jacker venom has been completely filtered from her system…"

"But, her memories…" Jane's face fell into a mask of sadness whenever she mentioned it.

"The psychological side effects are of course the primary concern," Lucius reached for Jane's hand and took hold of it. "But, I think I've discovered a promising course of treatment in that regard. It's…" he hesitated, "…not kind, but I think it's the only way. I can't psychologically reprogram her. What I have to do is force her to confront the discrepancies in her own memories. Hoyt couldn't alter and manipulate every memory. He didn't have access to everything she'd ever experienced. He took the memories he knew about, your time in the Games together, the memories you shared during the broadcasts, the post-Games interviews. Those are the memories he twisted. But, she still has all of her real memories, she just can't reconcile them with the horrible things Hoyt implanted and brought to the forefront of her mind. She has to face them, face the conflict between the two sets, and I believe if I can prompt that little by little she will come to remember the true memories as the truth."

"And…she'll love me again?"

Lucius sighed, "I can't promise you that. But, when she recognizes the truth, I feel confident that she won't hate you anymore. Think of the years you two spent falling in love with one another to begin with. If I'm successful, you may have to start all over again, but at least it's something."

He didn't understand. Couldn't understand. That there had been no years of falling in love with Maura, no convoluted process; she had loved Maura since the first momet she saw her. Nothing less. "What can I do?" Jane inquired desperately.

"I need things…things that will remind her of moments that Hoyt never would have known about. If I bring up the memories, I'm just another doctor trying to torture her, but when she comes into contact with a thing that harkens back to a memory…like Jo Friday, she really has to grapple with the disconnect between what she thinks she remembers of you and what the object-induced flashback forces her to experience."

It all sounded terrible and painful. But, if Lucius felt it was their best hope… "I'll see what I can come up with." Jane ran her hands through her hair and looked up at the glowing fluorescent light above. It was a new trick, staring into a light to stem imminent tears. There was no time for crying when in a day or so she could be embroiled in a firefight with the Capitol. "And the baby?"

"My tests so far don't show any fetal side effects from Maura's treatment in the Capitol."

Jane breathed a sigh of relief though it was weighted with the knowledge of a future revelation to Maura that terrified her, "We leave at nightfall. Can I see her one more time before I go?"

Lucius squeezed her hand and released it, "Of course."

* * *

Watching Maura squirm and cry out in her sleep was almost unbearable. Jane remembered the dream terrors before she'd had the comforting embrace of Maura to get her through the night. Waking drenched in sweat with bruises from kicking and punching at invisible foes. The utter sleeplessness and exhaustion. Nights spent drowning the pain in Old Pete's brew or some white liquor at Korsak's dining room table. Dragging the blade of her dagger across her skin so she'd have an excuse to go to the seamstress for treatment, for the two hours of uninterrupted sleep the memory of Maura's touch and tender care gave her afterwards. Then, after so many years, they had finally found their way to each other. And the nightmares began to fade, and when they did come, were easily chased away by a gentle caress, a loving word, and soft lips.

"Easy," Jane whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed, doubling over, and gathering a tormented Maura in her arms. "Easy, I'm here," she whispered, kissing her temple and cheek as she ran her fingers through sweaty, stringy hair and then massaged the tensing and flinching skin of Maura's scarred back. "Nothing's going to hurt you."

The body in her arms relaxed, the heat slowly fading from her skin, breathing evening out. "That's it," Jane soothed, "no more bad dreams tonight. I'm here. I'm here with you Maura."

Jane closed her eyes as precious minutes ticked by, they were all waiting for her at the hovercraft to disembark, more than anything she wanted to curl up in the bed behind her wife as she had done all of the nights since Maura's return. It was the only way they could be there for each other, so inadequate, yet it was all she had. "I have to go tonight. To continue what we started. Maybe it's best that I'm gone for a little while. Lucius says he can take you out of the infirmary then. There's always a chance that I won't make it back, and I know right now that if I died it wouldn't mean anything to you. But, I love you, I always have and I always will and if that happens maybe one day you'll remember that you love me too. I've left a letter with Lucius, for you and for our daughter, in case I don't make it back. If this is it, I'm ok with that, I was a broken mess and you put all the pieces back together. You gave my life meaning when I was spiraling into nothingness and Hoyt, the Capitol, what they did to you, doesn't change that. So, I'm going to make sure that it all means something in the end. Even if I can't be here to see it, you, and our daughter, you're going to be free. You're going to have the life we dreamed of together."

* * *

Her own screaming woke Maura throughout the night, a black haze of frightening dreams, stark loneliness, and physical manhandling. She couldn't remember being restrained, only that when the computer timer fell on sunrise, the lights in her infirmary room slowly illuminated as she lay already awake allowing her to see the padded cuffs that lashed her wrists and ankles to the bed and the restraining straps across her chest and thighs.

Exhausted and scared, she succumbed to the tears, her crying turning into wailing as she struggled futilely against he restraints.

Lucius rushed through the door and to her side, immediately focusing on releasing her from the tie downs, "I'm so sorry, Maura. Your nightmares were brutal last night, violent. We were afraid you were going to hurt yourself accidentally." Freed and sitting up, Lucius held the waste can as Maura's daily morning sickness took over.

"Never," Maura wiped her mouth and pushed him away, "Never do that again!"

Lucius took a cool cloth and reached for her face, pressing forward even as she shied away until she relented and let him press the wet rag to her brow. "Did you change my medicine last night?" She asked.

"No," he answered, moving the cloth to drape around her neck.

"None of the nights have been like that, something was different…I could feel it," she looked up at him, searching for the answer.

"Something was different, but not your medicine. What did you feel?" He asked.

"Alone…" she paused. "Worse. Worse than alone, abandoned, like…something fundamental was missing. It was terrifying, and the nightmares kept coming, but all of the nights before there was a…a presence…and the nightmares weren't so bad. Last night, it was just me, and I couldn't do it alone." She watched Lucius's face, the unexpected small smile that he had, it made her angry. "You think I'm crazy."

"Not at all," he covered her as she lay back in the bed, "I think what you've experienced is proof that our bodies and our unconscious sometimes know a truth our conscious mind has difficulty deciphering."

Maura looked to her right, and for the first time noticed the vase of wildflowers on the table at her bedside. Long-stalked, wispy, in muted shades of pink. Maura sat up, her eyes fixated on them as she reached to run her fingers down the frail petals on one of the buds.

"_Daisies?"_ She heard Jane's voice ask.

"_Aster flowers."_

"…_beauty for every season."_ When she closed her eyes, Maura saw tall grass ripple in waves as the breeze washed over the field, tangling its invisible fingers in Jane's hair and whipping it around her face. _Fingers, digging into the soil, uprooting the flowers and creating a makeshift pot out of her jacket_. _The jacket I made for her_, Maura remembered.

"_If I'm going to help you start growing your own plants and herbs for your salves and ointments, I better start practicing my gardening."_

_The smell of fresh soil and uprooted grass on Jane's hand filled her nose_, Maura's eyes fluttered, she tried to open them, to stop the scene that was replaying from some forgotten recess of her brain. _Dirt-stained hands cupping her face, pulling her close and then easing her back onto the ground. _ And the last thing, before Maura broke free of the memory and batted the vase of flowers to the floor, shattering it: _Jane's lips pressing against her own, her tongue asking for permission and Maura granting it to her._

"Those flowers, Maura. Do they make you remember something? A fleeting moment, a forgotten scene, a small vignette locked away as relatively forgettable in the grand scheme of things. But, now you recall. And you have to ask yourself, what is real and what isn't. I don't know what those flowers might mean to you. Would Charles Hoyt?" Lucius used his thumb to wipe the tears that streaked down Maura's cheek.

"What was different about last night…" her eyes flashed up to meet his, "she's spent every night here with you since you were rescued, holding you, whispering to you through your nightmares, running her fingers through your hair, rubbing your back. Last night, she left. Gone to join the rebels in the districts. To fight. To film more propos. I don't know when she'll be back…if she'll even make it back. That's what was different about last night."

More tears. Maura began to breathe heavily, looking down at her trembling hands. Her body wracked with competing emotions, the hatred she thought she should feel and yet the comforting presence she'd sensed around her all those previous nights had been real…and it had been Jane.

With no further words, Lucius left, but paused to peek through a crack in the doorway as he closed it behind himself, watching as Maura slipped from the bed and knelt beside the pooled water, broken glass, and flowers on the floor. She picked up the bouquet, droplets of water dripping from her fingertips back to the puddle, and brought the buds to her nose and inhaled.


End file.
